


Good For Me

by gigglebug



Series: Dragon Quest Builders 2 [3]
Category: Dragon Quest Builders (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cliffhangers, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, I'm not usually brave at posting so I'm trying to overcome my fears, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Malroth is a precious cinnamon roll, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Game(s), Temporary Character Death, it just takes a long time, sex is alluded to a couple of times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2020-11-09 08:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 74,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigglebug/pseuds/gigglebug
Summary: Malroth feels growing unease that he doesn't know what he is or his life's purpose, now that the monster inside of him has been defeated. So he and the builder Crea do the only sensible thing they know how: find another island and have another adventure.(Attempt at a generic builder)





	1. Making Plans

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing fluff for F!builder/Malroth and then this happened. This felt good enough to post for now though, even if I have no concept of a plot at all yet XD I probably should have waited until I had ideas for what I'm doing, but I'm just gonna try to be brave and actually post something rather than wait for it to die a slow death in my WIP folder since I'm not good at feedbacking myself. I'll have accountability this way. 
> 
> A note on "Crea"- I was trying to find a generic name I could use, and this one is the default female name in the first DQ builders game. I'm unoriginal. 
> 
> ALSO, because I haven't posted the fluff yet (*headdesk*), it should be pretty clear they're in a relationship now. So. Adjust your expectations accordingly! *confetti*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And I still lose myself In that orange glowing moment_   
_When your upturned face Seemed to answer all my questions _
> 
> In which Malroth and the builder have a chat.

A bolt of lightning lit the small bedroom of the canyon house, and the following thunder rumbled through the air. Crea awoke, gasping in surprise as she felt the house shake from her bed on the second floor. She sat up after a quiet moment, looking to the window. There on the balcony stood Malroth, leaning on the railing and looking up at the sky.

Crea slipped out from between the covers, the cool carpet fluffing up between her toes. She grabbed her bathrobe from the corner of the bed, shrugging it on over her shoulders. It was too small, not closing in the front, but Malroth had made it. She had joked with him later that it was her sex robe, the intention it be off as soon as possible. He'd liked that.

The glass door creaked quietly, and Crea stepped out into the cold air of nighttime. Malroth didn't look back at her, so she walked up next to him, noticing he'd opted to not wear anything outside. It wasn't like they had to worry about neighbors or anything in their isolated canyon home. 

"Having a hard time sleeping?" Crea asked, rubbing her hand across his bare back.

Malroth unclenched his jaw, still staring at the sky. "Yeah," he said, his voice gruff and hoarse. Almost like—

"Have you been crying?" Crea asked quickly. She leaned forward trying to get a glimpse of his face, but he turned away just as fast, his hands flying to his face to wipe his skin. 

"It's been raining," he said lamely.

Crea didn't buy it for a second. "Malroth," she said, reaching around to stroke his cheek with her fingers. "Malroth, please look at me."

"No," he grumbled.

Crea sighed, her hand dropping to massage his shoulders. "Can you at least tell me what's wrong? Or why you're out here naked?"

"Had to get outside," Malroth said.

When it was clear he wouldn't continue, she pressed on. "Why? Are you feeling okay?"

A pause. "I needed to wake up."

_ Oh._ Another nightmare. 

Crea pressed her forehead to his slumped back, kissing his spine. "I love you," she murmured into his skin. 

Malroth turned, straightening up and enveloping his arms around her the way she loved. She pressed herself flush to his skin, hugging him back with her arms at his waist. She felt him breathing into her hair, taking in her scent and kissing her hairline. 

"I love you," she repeated. "And I'll say it as many times as I have to until the nightmares are chased from your mind."

Malroth nodded against her head, holding her tighter. She rubbed what she could reach of his back, humming.

Several minutes passed. Crea finished humming her song and had relented to just holding him when he spoke. 

"Do you ever feel bitter?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever feel bitter," he repeated. "About not being able to go back to your world."

"As far as I'm concerned, this is my world now."

Malroth snorted.

"My home is with you, Malroth."

"I don't even know what I am," he whispered. 

Crea blinked. Normally his nightmares were related to the things he'd seen when he was under Hargon's control. This was… new.

"Existential crisis at 4 in the morning, huh?" she joked. 

Malroth disengaged from her, turning and walking away a foot. He folded his arms across his chest as though he were cold, staring at the waterfall in silence. 

Crea mimicked him, folding her arms across her chest at the sudden loss of his body heat. "Malroth?"

"Just leave me alone," he said, with more venom in his voice than he meant. 

"Malroth, I'm sorry, that was rude of me. Let me help."

"Go away," he said, louder. 

"So I can let you leave me again?" Crea demanded. Why was he so damn _ stubborn? _

The waterfall seemed so much louder in the quiet moment than it had ever been before. Crea stared at his back, waiting for a response. 

"Maybe that would be better," he murmured.

Crea couldn't stand it. She stepped over and put her hands on his back, noticing with sadness that he flinched. "I will never abandon you," she said firmly. 

"Maybe you should."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Crea practically shouted. "Are you listening to _ me? _ I _ love _ you, Malroth! I jumped into hell to rescue you! Doesn't that mean anything?"

Malroth flinched again, shying away from her touch. Crea mentally slapped herself. _ Smooth._

"Malroth,” she said, folding her arms against herself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken like that. It's just… the way you're talking makes me think you're going to leave again."

Malroth shifted against the railing, slumping as he stared out at the waterfall. Those were dark days, leaving the first time. While his rage consumed him in Moonbrooke, it had turned into a boiling haze as soon as he returned to the Isle. The power inside him seemed to multiply while he struggled to contain it, and the voice in his head– Hargon– spoke niceties to get him to give in. But, for angry as he was against her, he didn't want to turn against Crea. He would destroy anything but her. 

Hargon had to forcefully take control of his soul in order to properly prepare it for the monster Malroth. Which also meant forcefully kidnapping his body to Malhalla to do it.

But now…

The monster had been vanquished. He was all that was left, with the body that was never supposed to be. He was a sacrifice, living past his appointed time.

He had chosen to forge his own destiny. But he couldn't shake these feelings. 

"I'm not supposed to be here, Crea," he whispered. "Not 'here' as in the Isle," he hurried to add, at her intake of breath. "I mean… we weren't supposed to survive. I certainly wasn't supposed to. I was a vessel. But what… am I? What's my purpose now? I love it here and I love you, but I just can't shake these feelings of not knowing."

In the silence, Crea walked over to his side, standing next to him with her shoulder against his. 

"Sounds like we need another adventure," she suggested quietly.

Malroth scoffed. "As much as I would enjoy that, where would we even start? It's not like the Hairy Hermit would know of any magical lands with my answers."

"Probably not," she agreed. "But the world is pretty big. I'm sure there's a lot of places out there that need help. Maybe we’ll find it along the way."

Water droplets pelted his skin, beginning to fall from the sky. Malroth straightened, taking her arm gently as he pulled her underneath the awning.

"What would we tell everyone?" he murmured.

"That we need an adventure," Crea said, shrugging casually. "I need some more inspiration, after all."

Malroth turned and hugged her, relief and gratitude coursing through him. She smiled against his chest.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Don't thank me yet," she said. "We'll still have some time before we leave. Brownbeard will have to go exploring to see what's around. We'll have to wait until he comes back."

Malroth pulled back, leaning in to kiss her. He slipped a hand inside her tiny robe, trailing it across her torso. He felt her smile into his kiss. 

"Gives me plenty of time to go exploring in the meantime," Malroth said.

Crea grinned, rolling her eyes even though she was clearly enjoying it. She took his hand, leading him back inside. 

On the cliff above them, out of sight from the balcony, the Hairy Hermit stood, staring at the waterfall as he rocked back and forth between feet. 

"Hmm," he murmured. "The time-time-time has come."

He leapt into the air, teleporting away at once. He had a tip for Brownbeard.


	2. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ Always, sure as the rising sun _
> 
> In which the Hairy Hermit appears for a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have gotten a little hyperfocused and spat out 5 chapters. AWESOME! Hopefully I learn to pace myself with posting so I can have a little buffer. :3 I've gotten to the point that I actually get to start worldbuilding though, so I expect I'll slow down on that front a little.

In the morning, Crea and Malroth had breakfast as normal in the small kitchen attached to their living room. The incidents of last night weren’t forgotten, but mutually ignored until they could properly deal with the situation. Their touches were lighter but more common, each assuring the other they weren’t ignoring it.

One thing at a time.

Crea stretched as she stepped outside of the house into the sunlight, her arms reaching above her head as she felt every muscle from head to toe straining pleasantly. She exhaled as she brought her arms down, brushing at her chevron skirt. Malroth appeared behind her, holding her elbow gently.

“So,” he said.

Her heart fluttered. The anticipation was palpable.

“You wanna talk to Brownbeard first, or do something else?”

“Let’s go to Brownbeard,” she said. She didn’t know what else there was to do to prepare. At least, not yet.

They walked in comfortable silence up through the canyon and south into the desert. Crea wasn’t worried about anyone running up to them if they stayed close to the northern wall– the pyramid didn’t exactly have any windows on this side. Passing the glowing red tablet for the area, they trekked over the natural arch and through the lower reaches of the temple. When they finally stepped foot on the beach, Crea sighed.

“Remind me to make a more direct path to the dock when I have time,” she said. “And a better bridge from the temple to the desert.”

Malroth snickered. _ Always more projects. _

Coming around the bend of the rock formation next to the dock, the duo was surprised to find Brownbeard and his boat missing.

Well, not exactly missing. There was a letter stuffed haphazardly in the mailbox, and Crea could guess who it was from.

She pulled the letter out and opened it, Malroth peering over her shoulder at the note scribbled in red crayon.

“Ahoy, shipmates,” she read aloud. “I’ve received word of another island, an’ I’m hankering to check it out. I’ll return as soon as I’ve charted a path an’ back with me trusty box of crayons. Swimmingly, Brownbeard.”

Malroth frowned as she folded the letter back up. “Well great,” he said. “Already hitting snags and we’ve only been at this for an hour. Now what?”

“Wait, I guess,” Crea said, shrugging. “Could get started on that bridge if you’re willing to help me tear the rock down.”

“Wait-wait-wait!”

Crea and Malroth both jumped at the Hermit’s voice, the glowing hammerhead appearing at their side a few feet in the air.

“Do you always have to scare us like that?” Malroth demanded.

The Hermit chortled. “No, but it’s fun. Anyway, I see-see-see you’re looking for Brownbeard. Have unfinished business on the Explorer’s Shores?”

Crea caught the twinkle in the Hermit’s eye. “No,” she said carefully. “But I have a feeling you know something we need to discuss.”

“Well spotted!” he exclaimed, raising his hammer above his head and jumping in place. “You know where to find-find-find me!” He leapt into the air, disappearing.

“Why do we always have to go up there?” Malroth grumbled, already starting to walk towards the temple. “What’s wrong with having a conversation down here?”

Crea grinned, taking off after him.

Luckily, getting to the top didn’t take much time. Her builder’s flag fluttered peacefully above them as they approached the Hermit.

“Alright, fuzz-face,” Malroth said, his hands on his hips. “Cough it up. What’s the important thing we needed to know?”

“What now, are you Lulu?” Hermit asked, a sly look on his face. “She’s usually the great-great-great demander around here.”

Malroth scowled, looking away.

“Hermit,” Crea said, ignoring Malroth’s impatience. “Why are we up here?”

“Hmm!” Hermit jumped in place. “Why indeed?”

Malroth exchanged a look with Crea. She shrugged, motioning to the Hermit with her head.

“We need another adventure,” Malroth said quietly.

Hermit laughed. “That’s a half-half-half-baked excuse if I ever heard one.”

“What are you getting at?” Crea asked. She hated skirting around things like this.

“I know where you need to go-go-go,” Hermit said.

All three stood blinking at each other for a long moment.

“Hold up,” Malroth said angrily. “How do you know anything about what we’re talking about? You just dawdle around on top of the mountain all the time. Have you been eavesdropping?”

“Ho ho!” Hermit grinned, spinning his hammer in his hands. “Yes!”

Crea blanched. “Even when we…?”

Hermit spun, smashing his hammer in the air in front of him. “Absolutely not! Only things outside the house.”

Crossing his arms, Malroth grumbled quietly for only Crea to hear. “Perv.”

“In any case,” Hermit said, ignoring Malroth. “I told Brownbeard about the island he’s going to find-find-find. There’s monsters aplenty, though the Children of Hargon have been eradicated there since the world-world-world’s rebirth. I have it on authority that you’ll find your answers on that island.”

“How would you know?” Malroth asked, stomping his foot with emphasis.

“Because you’re not the only one who’s lost-lost-lost.”

Malroth’s expression fell into a shocked one, silencing him. 

“Alright,” Crea said, absentmindedly massaging her hand. “We’ve had a farming island, a mining island, and a war island. What’s this one’s deal?”

“I can’t say-say-say, because I don’t know.”

Crea squinted. “How can you not know?”

“Good authority, remember?”

“Okay,” Crea said skeptically. “And whose authority is that?”

Hermit chuckled to himself, deliberately not responding. 

“Let him be smug in his secrets,” Malroth grumbled. “I appreciate the heads up, but if you’re not gonna help us with anything useful, we’ll be on our way.” He turned on his heel, stalking off down the mountain. Crea turned to follow him, waving behind herself silently to the Hermit.

The Hairy Hermit watched them go, musing to himself. When they were gone from his sight, he looked up to the sky.

“Are you sure-sure-sure about this?”

A weightless, feathery voice appeared in his mind, feeling like the light from the sun despite it being intangible. _ Yes, _ it said. _ Malroth will find his answers on Aletia. _

Hermit let out a rare grumble. “I hope you’re right-right-right, Rubiss.” He caught sight of Malroth stomping along the beach, kicking at things. Crea was trailing along behind him. They seemed to be having a conversation. Probably about how unhelpful he was. 

Hermit’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Watch-watch-watch over them,” he murmured.

The voice glowed in his mind. _ I’ve never stopped. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hammerhead voice quirk is so awkward to write. I felt like I overdid it. :s
> 
> Also, a note since I couldn't find a good place to ever explain it in the story- Hermit's a spirit (duh). Not only that, but he's the legendary builder. The first game's legendary builder had Rubiss in his head, so why not this one too? It just... didn't stop after he died. So.
> 
> Also also, I made Aletia up. I don't feel like I'm well versed enough in DQ lore to do somewhere people are familiar with. :x


	3. Happiness Amplified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is the love of my life right here_   
_This is the end of my night of fear_   
_This is the meaning of ever and ever_
> 
> In which we get ready, get set, and go.

“Does he always have to be _ so cryptic?"_ Malroth shouted, punting a scallywinkle across the beach. “Honestly. Talk normally and straightforward for once, and then I might be able to _ take you seriously!" _He yelled, directing the last part of his sentence to the mountain. 

Malroth fumed, kicking anything that could be kicked as he stomped along the otherwise empty beach. He had to stop when he reached an alcove, a weathered stone circle carved into the floor. Whatever it was, its use had been lost to the ages. Malroth sunk to the ground next to it, resting his face between his hands with a huff.

Crea joined him in the shade a moment later, hurriedly stuffing things in her bag as she approached to sit next to him. 

"What'd you find?" he asked, his question coming across more like an accusation than an honest question. 

She hesitated. "Well, I was following you while you were kicking things around and I…" Crea rubbed at the back of her neck. "Well, I couldn't just let all those materials wash away…"

"You're such a builder," Malroth snorted, his comment coming out sarcastic. He buried his face in his hands. "Why is everything coming out of my mouth wrong?" he groaned. 

Crea sat next to him, rubbing her shoulder next to him. "Don't worry, I know what you meant. It's okay to be frustrated, you know."

"No it's not," he grumbled. "Being angry just reminds me."

He'd said it before he could stop himself. Anger reminded him of Moonbrooke. That start of the whole mess. The spiral. The loss.

He groaned. 

Crea pulled on his arm, encouraging him to lie on his back with her and stare up at the clear sky through the hole in the roof of the cave. He laid down, resigned, his arms collapsing on the stone at his sides. Crea took his hand, squeezing gently. 

The ocean water lapped at the shore quietly, and the echo of breaking waves from further away rolled through the cave pleasantly. Seagulls screeched high above them, even flitting across their view from the narrow hole on occasion. Salt filled Malroth's senses, calming him. It reminded him of when he'd woken on the shore those months ago, finding Crea and all those dead bodies. 

He hadn't known anything about himself back then, either. 

What would he tell himself, if he could go back? His mind filled with several things, mostly boiling down to trusting Crea. He wondered how different Moonbrooke would have been if he'd trusted her more completely. Then again, he would still have the soul of Hargon and his monster self leeching off of him if he hadn't let it get to his head.

Maybe it really was better this way, as much as it pained him to admit it. 

"What're you thinking about?" Crea asked quietly. She squeezed his hand. 

"Moonbrooke," he said. "I don't like being angry because of Moonbrooke."

"I figured."

"What was going through your mind?" he asked. "After I rejected you. And said I never wanted to see you again."

Crea sighed. "I didn't."

"What?"

"I didn't really think about anything," she admitted. "I was just… sad. Wondered what I did wrong. Wondered how I could explain myself, how I could make it up to you. And then whenever I saw you, I just… clammed up. There were no words, no explanations I could give. Not for how angry you looked. Not for how you couldn't even look me in the eyes."

A pain stabbed in Malroth's chest. "I'm sorry," he said. 

She squeezed his hand. "I'm just glad we're past all that."

"And you still jumped in that portal after Hargon?" Malroth asked. "Even after how mean I was?"

"There was something I heard you say before we left Moonbrooke," Crea said. "Asking yourself why you'd said those things to me. I didn't fully understand it yet, but it made me think that you weren't entirely you. Not at those moments, anyway. And then when I saw Hargon come _ out _of you, carrying your body with him like it was some kind of keepsake…" She shuddered. "I knew you hadn't done it on purpose. You had a parasite in you the whole time; it's no wonder it was so easy to lose control. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't really you. That made it easy to forgive."

Malroth felt a surge of something in his chest, swelling his throat. He sat up quickly, trying to stem the tears before they fell. 

"Malroth?" Crea asked, sitting up. 

"I don't deserve you," he murmured, wiping at his eyes. 

Placing a hand on his back, she rested her head against his shoulder. "Even if you don't, I'm glad I have you anyway."

Malroth choked out a laugh. "Why'd the house have to be so far away," he tried to joke. "I'd take you right here if I didn't think we'd get sand in all the wrong places."

Crea laughed loudly. "Yeah, let's save that for later. You can shower me with gratitude at the house."

"In the meantime," Malroth said, drying his hands on his knees. "What do you think about the dumb Hermit?"

"I think I can understand why he's being so vague," she said. "We'd be losing some of the adventure of the island if he told us now. The goal is to learn when we get there. We're defeating the purpose if we start unraveling things here."

"I guess," Malroth begrudgingly agreed, crossing his arms across his chest. The action reminded Crea of an upset toddler. 

“At least we have a starting point,” she reminded. “We just have to wait for Brownbeard to come back, and then we’re one step closer to figuring out what you are.”

She spotted his cheeks turn a shade pinker as he turned to face the ocean.

“Malroth?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“You know I’m never gonna accept that answer again.”

Malroth sighed. “I was just… thinking.”

Crea stepped closer to him, putting a hand on his elbow.

Malroth pursed his lips. “I just… had a thought. About how grateful I am to you for everything. And for helping me now.” Malroth’s fingers fidgeted from under his arm. “And then I looked over just now and you…” His face turned more pink.

“Malroth,” she grinned, her voice inflecting overdramatic astonishment. “I didn’t know you could be so _ romantic__!”_

“Shut up!” he scowled, turning away to hide his embarrassment. 

Crea laughed aloud, reaching up to take his cheek and direct his face to look at her. He didn’t resist. She smiled, closing her eyes and bringing his lips to hers. His embarrassment melted away, uncrossing his arms to put his hands on her waist. 

Malroth hummed as she pulled away. “Why are you so…” he trailed off.

Crea raised an eyebrow, waiting. 

He sighed. “Good,” he decided.

Tucking her head down, she smiled again. “I know you’re frustrated about the Hermit,” she said. “But either way, there isn’t anything we can do until Brownbeard returns. Do you want to go home to rest up and wait? Or would you rather help me build?” Crea stood up, turning back and holding her hand out for him to take.

Malroth considered as he took her hand, standing himself and strolling back into the sunlight with her. “We should probably tell everyone we’ll be heading off for a while,” he said. “Other than that, I’ll do whatever you want to do.”

"That's a good idea," Crea said, meandering across the beach and into the lower level of the temple. “How do you think Lulu will respond to this?”

Malroth sneered. “Probably be thrilled she gets to be de facto ruler while we’re gone. And maybe make us feel a little guilty about it in the meantime.”

Crea pinched the bridge of her nose. “Goddess, _ Lulutopia _ can go die in a fire.”

“That sounds like a job for me!” Malroth said.

She punched him playfully.

* * *

As expected, the residents of the Isle were less than thrilled that they were leaving again. Crea took the responsibility of explaining they were feeling a little stir-crazy and wanted to gain a deeper understanding of building in other parts of the world. They didn’t need to know about Malroth’s crisis, and he was grateful it was her job to explain. 

Lulu had responded how Malroth had guessed– she wasn’t very quiet about how she would be fine running things while they were gone, triggering a few eyerolls from Crea. Lulu made a big show about how much she would miss them, and did they have enough food to take on their trip? Had they packed enough clothes? And just when were they leaving anyway?

The two disappeared back to their canyon home when they finally extracted themselves, eager to unwind and prepare for their trip in private.

* * *

It was three days later when they spotted Brownbeard’s mast on the horizon.

The breeze from the sea brought a chill, one that Malroth was quick to notice when they stood waiting on the pier. He didn’t want to concern Crea though, so he kept it to himself. It brought a curious smell too, though it was one he couldn’t place. It was… strange. 

He didn’t like it. It made him nervous.

Brownbeard docked around noon and, after explaining they were ready to go, promptly turned around and got back on his ship. “Never liked standing around on land for too long anyway,” they’d heard him mutter. No doubt his smile got bigger as soon as they were leaving the safety of the dock.

Malroth perched up on the bow as always, his huge hammer strapped to his back, Crea standing behind him and looking out over the horizon. The breeze wafted through her hair, encouraging her to take a deep breath of the salty sea. It was peaceful.

“How long to sail to this island, Brownbeard?” Crea called back to the captain.

“About two days, Miss Crea!” he called back. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we get there in good time, and shipshape to boot!”

Crea grinned, glancing at the back of Malroth's head. Two days wouldn’t seem like a long time with him at her side.

“Do you know the name?” Malroth asked, turning around.

“Aletia, Mister Malroth!” Brownbeard said.

“Aletia,” Crea repeated to herself. "I like it."

Malroth felt something run down his spine when he heard the name of the island. It wasn’t fear, or dread, or even nervousness. He chewed his lip, trying to determine the name of the feeling.

It was nightfall before he finally realized what it was.

_ Regret. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably apologize, I'm a fan of mini-cliff hangers at the end of chapters. It's just how my brain separates things. D: 
> 
> Many thanks to those of you who've left comments, kudos, and subscriptions! Y'all give me life! <3


	4. All Over the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And it's all over the world_   
_Your call lost in the wind_   
_You soar over the world_   
_Your call over the world_
> 
> In which Crea and Malroth reminisce.

The sun was gentle the following morning, the early rays of dawn finding Crea and Malroth snuggled together at the front of the ship. Malroth yawned, waking first, but unwilling to move. For one thing, it was still early. For another, Crea had a death grip on his waist. No way was he risking waking her. Malroth studied her face, gently stroking his fingers through the wisps of hair around her ears. He wanted to feel happy, content with her wrapped around his midsection.

But his realization from the night before hovered over him like a cloud. What about this island garnered regret from his subconscious? Was it bad? Or just regret at not having left sooner? Had he been there before? Or did he just know something preemptively? 

Malroth sighed. He had to be patient. That's what Crea would tell him. And he would scoff at her for it, even if she was right.

Almost as if on cue, Crea's eyes fluttered open. She relaxed her grip on him, letting go to stretch her arms above her head.

Malroth smiled gently. "Good morning sleepyhead," he said.

Crea grumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Malroth swooped in to kiss her mouth while she was distracted, and she jumped. He pulled away and she smacked her lips, her tongue coming out as she made a grumpy noise.

"M' mouth ith dry," she complained, her tongue hanging. 

Malroth chuckled. "Better find your water, then." She was already rummaging through her bag.

Breakfast was satisfactory, even if everything had been packed the day previous. Malroth had never loved fresh vegetables, so the not-as-fresh packed food suited him just fine.

"What was your favorite part about Furrowfield?" Crea asked him, sloshing some water from her bottomless pot onto her hands.

Malroth raised an eyebrow. "What brings up Furrowfield?" 

"Just reminiscing," Crea said, continuing to wipe her hands down. "I dunno. The pot made me think of Pastor Al."

"Ah," Malroth said. "Well, I was rather fond of beating up that overgrown killerpillar underneath his house."

"Why's that?"

"Cos it gave you an idea for a super cool weapon!" Malroth said. "It almost made me jealous that I couldn't use it."

Crea grinned. _"My _ favorite part was when you got that pumpkin stuck on your head."

"That wasn't me!" Malroth complained. _"Perry _ put it on me and I couldn't get it off. Not for lack of trying. Ugh, it smelled horrible inside that thing. And I couldn't get the smell out of my hair for a week!"

"I shouldn't laugh," Crea giggled. "But it sure was cute."

"Never again," Malroth shuddered. "Not even for you."

"Alright, alright," she said, waving her hand in the air.

"What about Khrumbul-Dun?" Malroth asked. "What did you like there?"

"I can tell you what I _ didn't _ like," she scowled. "Everybody thinking I was Babs' favorite cos she packed me lunch! You wanna take a guess why she packed me lunches? First off, I was there to save the island, so I'm important. Second off, you and I were probably the only people there that treated her like more than a pair of legs. No wonder she made us free food! She was trying to encourage the miners to act better!"

Malroth laughed. "Yeah, that whole bit was pretty dumb. Do you have a favorite memory instead?"

Crea considered. "Well, finding and using the echo flute was pretty cool. Exploring the tunnels was alright, though I think the mushroom cavern we found was my favorite of those. What about you?"

"I liked beating up the miners sometimes," Malroth grinned. "And they said it was training! It was awesome!"

"Did you ever lose?" she asked.

"Nope," Malroth said, flexing like the miners had taught them. "Lots tried though!"

Crea's smile faltered. "I remember down in the forgotten shrine too, when we were looking for diamonds. Do you remember that? With the monsters and that dragon?"

"Ah," Malroth froze, dropping his hands in his lap mid-flex. "...uh, yeah, of course I remember."

Crea bit her lip. "That wasn't the heat getting to you, was it?"

He shook his head. "Hargon told me it was fitting I destroy them, even though they worshipped me."

Crea stuck her tongue out in disgust. "I can't imagine how awful it must've been to have that in your head all the time."

"He didn't talk a lot," Malroth shrugged. "Not until the end, anyway."

Crea hummed, leaving back against the ship's railing. "Still less than ideal."

Unease settled back into his stomach, so Malroth climbed back up onto the bow to search the horizon for land. 

Crea watched him go, observing him when he settled in his usual place. She was always impressed that he was able to balance up there, and not only that but to feel confident enough that he wasn't going to fall off. He’d always been firm up there, never even getting seasick. Not even from the storm they had to brave that eventually landed them in Skelkatraz. 

Crea frowned. "How did you survive in Skelkatraz?" she asked suddenly. 

"Hm?" Malroth's gaze never left the horizon. 

"You didn't eat at all while we were in there," she said. "You gave that one cabbage to me and the guards got mad and didn't feed you the other two weeks we were there. Shouldn't that have hampered your strength?"

Malroth stared firmly ahead, seeming to ignore the question. Then, "I think you can thank Hargon for that, too," he said.

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. Remember the hole? And that troll?"

"What about him?"

"Didn't you ever wonder why you never saw him again?" 

Crea blanched. "You don't mean…?"

Malroth nodded, eyes still glued to the horizon.

Crea gagged. "Gross," she whispered. 

"The skeleton guard said he heard screaming, remember?" Malroth smiled cruelly. "Now you know it wasn't either of us."

Crea shuddered. "I could've been happy not knowing that."

Malroth shrugged. "You asked."

"Yar, me hearties!" Brownbeard called. "We should be making port in Aletia this time tomorrow. Don't go overboard with the celebratin', I know it's hard to contain yoreselves."

Crea grinned, getting up to go over and converse with Brownbeard. Malroth peered over his shoulder long enough to see her sit down, then turned back around when Brownbeard launched into a shanty, trying to teach her the words. 

_ Aletia, _ Malroth said in his mind. _ Aletia, Aletia, Aletia… _

But the regretful feeling did not return. In fact, he didn't feel anything in conjunction with the word anymore.

Did it pass? Was it a fluke?

Brownbeard's voice drifted over the water, heralding no answers.


	5. On My Way to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And I am just another angel_  
With a voice who wants to sing.
> 
> In which things don't look very good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here come the fun parts!
> 
> I finished chapter 11 last night and dudes, I am so excited. I'm super pleased with how this is turning out so far! 
> 
> And many thanks for joining me on this adventure :D

It was the smell that Malroth picked up long before he even saw land. He crinkled his nose in disgust, recognizing the scent as the distant one he’d picked up back on the Isle. Crea looked to him with a smile as he jumped off the bow, then, recognizing the look in his eyes, knit her eyebrows together in concern.

"What is it?" she asked.

Malroth grumbled. "We must be getting close."

"Why’s that?"

"I can smell it."

Crea raised an eyebrow. "Worse than Furrowfield?"

"Burning wood and…" he hesitated. He didn’t want to scare her. "...other stuff. I don’t think whatever’s there is gonna be pretty."

Crea mirrored his determined expression, looking back out over the horizon. 

It wasn’t long before Brownbeard saw it. "Land ho!" he said. "I sailed on around the island when I got here last, and there was one sure port in the northwest. There’s an inlet in the south so there might be something in there, though I haven’t checked. Any preference?"

"Probably the dock you know of," Crea said, shrugging.

"This island be a lot bigger than the other isle’s ye’ve been to," Brownbeard warned. "It’s probably gonna take a lot longer to hike around."

"Worst comes to worst, we build you a dock on the south side," Malroth said. "But first we gotta see what’s going on around here."

Crea’s eyes grew suddenly wide. "Look!" She pointed. "Smoke!"

While the tendrils of inky smoke themselves were not thick, they were _ wide_. The smell of fire was still pretty strong, but there was no real way to tell if it was still burning or not. 

Brownbeard sailed slowly around the coast, avoiding the reefs and small islands. Crea and Malroth stood together, gaze transfixed on the island. They passed a small island to the northeast that had a massive, rundown tower, catching Malroth’s eye. He watched it go by, feeling a pull towards it. Even if he couldn’t fix it, he wanted to honor it, for some reason. It felt like the respect he paid to the soldiers at Moonahan when they’d gone back. 

When he finally tore his eyes away from the tower as it passed behind them, he felt his mouth run dry. 

Thin, smoking remains of trees jutted up from the ground like toothpicks, the ground as ashen as the tree’s leftover bark. The remains of a city smoldered in the distance, smoke rising from what was left of the massive stone walls. Crea clutched Malroth’s hand, squeezing it. He squeezed back, hoping to reassure her when he felt no hope for himself.

"Do you smell that?" Crea said, as the air changed directions from the mainland to their ship. "It’s…"

"Flesh," Malroth finished. It was what he had smelled earlier, rotten and melting. He was sure it was coming from the castle, and he hoped it wouldn’t be as bad if they landed further from it.

The mood on the ship changed instantly, changing to one of helplessness and trepidation. Malroth noticed Crea becoming increasingly fidgety. She held her hand up to her mouth, chewing on her thumb absentmindedly as she watched the smoking scenery go by. He wondered what she was thinking.

Approaching the dock, Malroth noticed they were heading towards the smoking remains of another city. His heart dropped. This wasn’t going to be good for Crea.

"Brownbeard," Malroth barked. "Didn’t you notice all this when you checked it out last time? Why didn’t you tell us?"

"I was trying not t’ sail headlong into the reef!" Brownbeard said, an apologetic look on his face. "I saw the dock and figured that was all ye’d care about."

"And you didn’t notice the smell?" Malroth challenged.

"Malroth," Crea said quietly, drawing his attention away from the guilty captain. "Let him be."

He scowled, turning back to face the island. 

They pulled up alongside the dock, Brownbeard stopping the ship with ease and dropping the anchor. Grabbing his hammer from where it leaned against the ship’s railing, Malroth swung it over his shoulder and stepped off the ship with a confidence he didn’t feel.

It was more like a village than a city, he decided, looking around. Only a few foundations remained, half buried in dirt and ash. The dock itself was covered in soot, and some tattered cloth hung from what he guessed most have been a streetlight. Or similar. There really wasn't anything left. He was surprised it didn't smell worse, or overwhelmingly like death.

Malroth turned, watching Crea depart the ship slowly, reluctantly moving her feet forward as she glanced around. Her eyes were glassy, and she held her hands together tucked close to her chest. 

She sunk to her knees. 

Malroth sprinted back to her, kneeling with his hand on her back. "Crea?"

She shook her head, eyes transfixed in shock. 

"Crea," Malroth tried again, trying to break her from her trance. He tried desperately to reassure her. "Where have we ever been that the city was right next to the dock?"

Crea shook her head again.

Malroth waited, watching her intently. 

It was barely a moment later when she exhaled, a sob forcing itself from between her lips. The sound seemed to wake the rest of her senses and fall apart. Tears slid from her eyes, falling in fat droplets from her cheeks. Her hands trembled as they fell from her chest to her lap. 

It was like watching her wilt. 

Malroth reached around her shoulders quickly, pulling her to his chest. He put a hand protectively against her head and she sobbed again, her eyes finally closing tight as tears began to steadily flow down her skin. She grabbed his arm, clutching him tightly, her hands frequently readjusting until they found their way onto his shirt, grasping at the fabric like a lifeline. 

It broke his heart, listening to her break down like this. 

It bothered him more that he didn't understand why. 

Malroth held her, rocking back and forth gently until her wails slowed and receded into sniffles. Crea's grip lessened on his arm and clothes, though she turned her face further into the comfort of his bare chest. Malroth stroked her hair as he held her, tucking loose strands behind her ear. When she was finally silent, he looked down. 

Her eyes were red and puffy, staring into nothingness as she rested her cheek against his skin. Streaks ran down her face in wide marks indicating the path of her tears. She was really pale. Malroth reached into her bag, gingerly taking her bottomless pot from its usual pocket. He was half-afraid it would break in his hands. Malroth carefully maneuvered into under his arm and into her lap, where she looked down at it blankly. 

"Drink," Malroth urged.

She stared at it for a moment longer than he cared for, and he tipped the pot over enough for a trickle of water to flow onto the broken cobblestones in front of her. Malroth dipped his fingers in the water, bringing them to her face and smoothing her skin. 

Crea blinked as if waking up. She put her hand against his, trapping it against her face. Malroth looked at her expectantly as she met his gaze. 

"I pictured the Isle," she explained, her voice raw and breathless.

_ Ah. _ No wonder.

"There were people here with lives and dreams," she murmured, searching his face. "And now…"

Malroth smoothed his thumb across her cheekbone. 

"Now there's nothing," Crea shook her head. "Not even hope. Everywhere else we've been… there's at least been a dream. A faint hope. An idea. Why did we come here if there's nothing to build on?"

"This is only one corner of this island, Crea," Malroth reminded. "There might be something yet."

Crea sighed, letting go of his hand and scooping the pot up into her arms. Malroth stood, reaching his hand down to her. She took it.

After washing her face and hands from her pot and putting it away, they bid their farewells to Brownbeard and trekked out of the city into the desolate countryside. The withered tree trunks increased as they went, making Malroth realize this had once been a forest.

"I don't understand," he heard Crea whisper. "What happened here? The destruction here is so… catastrophic. It's unlike anything I've ever seen."

Malroth felt regret pool in his stomach again and her words, and he looked out over the landscape to hide his concern. _ This isn't the same as when I hid the voices from her, right? _ he wondered. _ This is just a feeling. For some reason. I'll tell her when I figure it out; she's already dealing with a lot. _

They traveled southeast, over a rocky outcrop and towards the middle of the island. True to Brownbeard's word, this island felt considerably larger than the others. Large enough that they hadn't found any kind of suitable shelter by the time night rolled around.

"Can't we make one?" Malroth asked. "I know you brought enough materials to rebuild your castle three times."

"Don't you think that would…" she hesitated. "Attract attention?" 

"What do you mean?"

"What if the source of the destruction is still on the island?" Crea asked. "Making a house would just be painting a huge target on our heads."

"But the Hermit said the Children of Hargon weren't here," Malroth insisted.

"He also said there were plenty of monsters here, and I haven't seen one since we docked this morning."

Malroth huffed, conceding her point. "You need to rest, Crea," he said gently, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You had a long day. Can we make something underground? It could be a glorified hole for all I care, I just need you to be safe while you sleep."

Crea's eyes glossed over, as she often did when calculating and forming a plan for a building. She nodded after a moment. "Alright," she agreed, sitting down against a tree trunk. "But I want you to dig it out."

Malroth nodded, digging where she had instructed a few feet down. He finished quickly, coming back to her in just twenty minutes.

He and Crea nestled inside, and she wasted no time in curling up into his chest. Malroth was content to hold her, feeling an ache in his chest at her despair. At least she fell asleep quickly, her ragged breathing slowing into quiet steady breaths. Laying his head against the dirt, he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀


	6. You Got To Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dream on little dreamer_   
_This is how it all begins_
> 
> In which Malroth has a dream.

Malroth was floating. 

At first he thought it was just a feeling, but when he opened his eyes, he was _ actually _ floating. Well, as real as it could've been inside a dream. He didn't know how he knew he was dreaming.

He looked around at the empty air around him. Looking down, he saw the landscape of Aletia, spread out beneath his outstretched feet. He could see the mast of Brownbeard's ship to the north, still waiting patiently at the dock they'd left the day before. The rest of the landscape was bleak, as they'd already determined. Malroth was surprised to notice how pockmarked it was, through. As if huge boulders had been thrown and demolished on impact. He noticed fires were still burning to the south. He needed to tell Crea they avoid that way for now, provided he was looking at the island in real time. Two people were nothing against a raging inferno. 

Continuing his sweep of the island, he spotted the southern inlet Brownbeard had mentioned, following it up to a large bay. Smack in the middle of it was a stray island, an untouched but rundown stronghold sitting on its peak. Malroth pursed his lips. If anyone had survived, he would hazard a bet they would've gone there. The only thing was he didn't see an easy way to access the peninsula on the eastern side of the island. That seemed the closest point to land otherwise. He wondered if they could build a dock somewhere on the island for Brownbeard. 

At that thought, he felt himself hurtling back to the ground, as though gravity had suddenly remembered he was there. Malroth yelled in surprise, tumbling helplessly.

Malroth opened his eyes as he yelled, bolting upright before hitting his head on the low dirt ceiling. He fell back on his back, clutching his head and groaning. 

"Malroth?"

He looked over between his fingers at Crea, who looked at him with big eyes.

Malroth sighed. _ Stupid dream. _

"Are you okay?" she asked, scooching closer to him to put a hand on his stomach.

"M' fine," he grumbled. "Just a dream and a low ceiling."

"Not a nightmare?"

He shook his head, swallowing. "No. I… I saw the island."

"This one?" she asked, hope flashing across her eyes for a brief moment. "Did you see anything?"

He knew she meant _people_. Goddess, he'd missed that light in her eyes, and he'd do anything to have it stay. 

Except lie, that is. She didn't deserve that.

"I was too far up to see people. But I did see a structure that looked promising," he added at her crestfallen face. That seemed to appease her.

"Is it far?" Crea asked.

Malroth hummed. "Probably a day or so to the bay," he said. "Remember the inlet Brownbeard mentioned? It opens up into a bay, and there's an island in the bay that has some kind of fortress on it. It looked old, but not messed up like everything else on this island. If anyone survived, I'd guess they went there."

Crea nodded, determination returning to her features. 

He hoped he hadn't set her up to fall again. 

"The thing is," he added. "It doesn't seem like there's an easy way to _ get to _ this place. When I saw it in my dream, I wondered if we could build a dock there for Brownbeard, and that's when I woke up."

Crea looked thoughtful. "Well, it's as good of a plan as any, considering we don't have one right now." She crawled out of their hole, brushing the dirt off her side and stretching. Malroth followed her out and she helped him up, brushing the dirt out of his hair. 

"How do you know we can trust a dream?" Malroth asked, brushing his pant leg and attaching his hammer back to his back. "It was just a dream, after all."

"Have you got any better ideas?" she asked.

He grumbled. "No…"

"Then why not?" She smiled gently for the first time since they arrived. "It certainly can't hurt." 

"Crea," Malroth said, grabbing her elbow before she could walk away. He looked into her eyes, desperation blooming in his gut. 

"What?"

"I don't…" He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I don't want this to give you false hope. I don't even know if those things are actually there, being a dream and all."

She blinked, noticing his unease for the first time. "It'll be fine," she said, trying to tug her elbow out of his hand.

"Don't lie to yourself," Malroth growled a warning, his grasp tightening. "Not like this. Don't tell yourself something so you can fall apart again later."

Crea winced and he let go, flexing his fingers as he brought his fist back to his side. She rubbed her elbow where he had grabbed her.

"I need you," he mumbled.

She nodded, still holding her arm. "Let's get going," she said, walking in the direction he had indicated.

Malroth watched her for a moment before trailing along behind her, glimpsing the pink mark that bloomed on her elbow after she let it go. He peered down at his hands as he walked, embarrassed that he'd hurt her. It would only take one slip of his carefully crafted concentration to keep from seriously injuring her, or worse. He'd never forgive himself if that happened.

They walked in silence the whole day, the sun shining on their faces with no warmth. Eventually they started catching glimpses of the fortress island when they crested empty hills, pausing on each to share a drink from the bottomless pot.

_ Guess it wasn't just a _ _ dream, _Malroth realized. It didn't make him feel better.

It was late afternoon when they were finally close enough to hear the distant water breaking on the shore. Malroth guessed they wouldn't be able to get all the way there until the next morning, provided they stopped. It would probably be midnight if they chose to keep going until they reached it. 

Crea stopped on a hilltop, taking in the surroundings. Malroth tried to encourage himself to speak, but his tongue felt like lead. 

"We're getting close, huh?" he managed, observing her expression.

She nodded curtly, looking over the landscape in the fading light of the sunset.

"Do you want to stop or keep going?" Malroth tried again.

_"Goddess,_ look at that crater."

Following her finger, Malroth looked. A crater scarred the earth, much larger than the pockmarked holes he'd seen in his dream.

"Wow," Malroth said. "What do you thi— nrgh!"

He yelled suddenly as he interrupted himself, a sharp pain shooting through both of his temples. Stepping back a pace, he clutched his head between his hands, struggling to stay upright. Malroth could vaguely make out Crea calling his name, but the roaring in his ears drowned her out. A pink fog covered his entire vision, and he began to see shapes form in front of him.

Malroth recognized the scaly appendages and claws outstretched in front of him, hurling fireballs into a portal. It was the monstrous Malroth, in his full power, hurling destruction at the world. Human Malroth recognized it.

_ This must be after he and Hargon left us for dead, _ he realized. _ Is this… a memory? _

The portal blurred and then sharpened over a landmass, the monster hurling another fireball as it appeared. An explosion triggered, and then the portal blurred again and hopped somewhere else. Malroth felt his mouth drop open in horror as the portal produced a picture of Aletia, green and abundant. The monster took careful aim, slinging a fireball right at a town. It erupted in fire, a shockwave rippling from the impact. The monster laughed in his head.

Malroth blinked, the shapes fading away as the pink haze in front of his eyes became less bright. Crea's face came into focus, backlit by the orange sky. He must've fallen onto his back. He could see her mouth moving, and he focused on her lips. Her voice sounded far away, but as he concentrated, he heard her come closer and closer.

"Crea," Malroth whispered. He reached up, putting his hand on her cheek.

She put her hand on his, relief and anger washing over her face in a matter of seconds. "What the hell just happened?"

"I saw what happened," he croaked, the pain in his temples receding. "You remember in Malhalla? After I made you the medicinal herb and we flew off to find monster me?"

"What about it?"

"There was a portal there, remember?" he said. "By monster me's feet. He was throwing fireballs when we approached."

Crea's eyes went wide in understanding.

"His memory just came to me," Malroth said. "Does that mean it was me? Did I do this?"

"No," Crea said, insistent. "You were separate then. You didn't make that choice."

Malroth sat up, rubbing his head. "But why did I gain his memories? Is he still inside me somewhere then?"

Crea searched his face, the look in her eyes betraying her fright and concern. But she didn't speak. He expected as much. Malroth turned away, looking off in the distance to the fortress.

"We should go," he said, rising to his feet. "I feel fine now. We can make the shore by morning."

"You should probably rest," Crea said weakly. 

"Where?" he said. He could feel both frustration in his gut and doubt radiating from her behind him. He took a deep, deliberate breath, and he turned back to her, trying to give his most convincing smile. "I promise, I feel fine. We can make it."

She rose to her feet, uncertain. Malroth tried to smile again, turning and walking down the hill with her trailing behind him.


	7. Every Little Beat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Every little beat of your heart_   
_You get a little closer to me_
> 
> In which they check out the island fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just passed 20k in my hardcopy :D hooray! and I feel preemptively bad because I have some plans. Dastardly plans. >:3 but I can promise a happy ending because I'm a sap like that, so. Fear not :)

They made the shore of the bay by midnight, just as Malroth had predicted. He was surprised to find the shore covered with sand rather than dirt as he expected this far from the sea. 

_ Well, whatever, _ he had thought, lying on it with his hands under his head. _ It's softer than dirt. _

Morning came too soon. He woke to find Crea already eating breakfast, munching on a small loaf of bread with grilled plumberries on the side. He was grateful they had sustainable food in her bag– trying to cook anything in this landscape would've been a nightmare. 

"Good morning," he said, moving closer to her. "Mind if I join you?"

She nodded, her mouth full, motioning to the other side of her bag laid out in front of her. The unease and forced smile on her lips were as transparent as glass.

Malroth dug around her bag for a steak, trying to watch her out of the corner of his eye. She had turned and was staring over the water now, so he looked up at her as he pulled his food out. Immediately his eye was drawn to the bright purple streaks on her elbow.

"Crea," he breathed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She looked at him in plain confusion.

"I hurt you," he said, motioning to her elbow.

She gave him a look, mostly mischievous. "You've bruised me before," she said.

"That was different!" Malroth said loudly, his cheeks reddening. "That was when we…you…uh…" His brain shorted, and he grumbled. "That was consensual. This wasn't."

Crea laughed, though it was restrained. "It's fine, Malroth."

"No, it's not," he insisted. "I shouldn't be hurting you."

Crea looked away, staring down at the small portion of food left in her hands. "You were only trying to protect me," she said.

Malroth shook his head. "You hardly spoke at all yesterday. I let my emotions get the better of me and you just took it. That's not fair to you."

She continued to stare at her lap. "I just wanted to support you without getting in your way," she murmured. 

Malroth put his food down in the sand, sliding over to kneel in front of her. He reached up gently, cupping her cheek in his hand and lifting her face to look at him. "Crea," he breathed. "It was wrong of me. We're a team, remember? I'm sorry." He leaned in close to her lips until they were almost touching, but he paused, giving her the option to pull away if she chose.

He felt her lips press to his in a kiss, and relief washed through him. He forced himself to be careful, mindful of his strength and her wants. He didn't want to overstep again. And yet, the more she kissed him the more he wanted to let go, and he leaned forward, placing a hand on her waist.

Crea pulled away, smiling her real smile. "Malroth," she chided playfully. "Not here."

He found himself breathing a little harder than he expected, and he nodded, rocking back on his heels and further into a sitting position. She took his hand.

"Thank you," she said. "I know you didn't intend to be cruel yesterday. I can only guess just how stressful it's been for you too, given your…" She faltered, leaving his vision unsaid. "Ahem. I know I haven't exactly been having a day at the beach."

Malroth frowned at her word choice. "But we're… on a beach…?"

Crea giggled. "Figure of speech," she explained. "Anyway, I think you're right to be guarded, but we have to have a little hope, too. The Hairy Hermit wouldn't have let us come here if there wasn't anything we could do."

Malroth nodded again. "All signs seem to point to the island," he said.

"I think so too," she said. "How do you trust our boat making skills?"

"Well, I don't trust _me,"_ Malroth grinned. "But something tells me you've got a blueprint for the occasion."

Her eyes twinkled, and Malroth prayed that he would never be there to see that light go out.

Following the blueprint was easy, and even though he only managed to help with a couple of parts, they had a tiny boat and a couple of oars constructed in a couple of hours. Malroth was pleased with himself as they launched out into the bay, thrilled that he could at last contribute to building _ with _ her. He dug the oars deep, propelling them through the water towards the looming island.

Malroth watched Crea when they got close, sensing her wary optimism, as well as a little apprehension. He looked over his shoulder as they came into the shadow of the island. It was taller than it looked.

"You wanna do the dock first?" Malroth asked. "Or take a hike up and come back later?"

Crea sighed. "I _ want _ to come back and do it later, but I know we should do it now. Once I get up there I won't want to come back down."

Malroth saluted playfully. "Just tell me where to go, boss."

They maneuvered to the southern point, further from the fortress than she'd liked, but mindful that it would be easier to come and go from the ocean. Crea was surprised to find a path up the island from where they landed, and she hurriedly constructed a basic dock, large enough for their little rowboat and Brownbeard's ship together.

With that done, Crea practically ran up the path, Malroth hot on her heels. He was impressed that the island's trees and grass had survived for as large as the shockwave was. He didn't see any evidence of damage to the landscape at all actually, now that he thought about it. 

_ Strange. _

The two of them slowed when they reached the outer wall. Crea panted slightly, drinking in the details of the stonework as she stared at it. Malroth smiled, turning his attention to the entrance. The door looked like it had been blown open about a century ago, the hinges rusted and the wood rotted away. He cleared away the debris, making a path for Crea to follow when she was ready. 

Malroth stepped inside, looking around. The walls were in serious disrepair, huge gorges in some places that looked like an ogre had knocked them down with a club. Ivy climbed the walls that weren't fallen, and a foundation of what he guessed was a watchtower sat in the back corner. His heart leapt into his mouth as a familiar shape in the center of the compound caught his eye, completely layered with moss and vines.

Malroth ran to it, ripping away the tendrils of green from the framework. He reached up carefully, smudging at the moss to wipe it away.

Flashing in the sunlight beneath it was a brilliant golden gleam.

"Crea!" he shouted, peeling away more of the moss with utmost care. 

At his call, she came running around the corner, skidding to a stop when she saw him. "A builder's bell," she whispered. 

Malroth stopped to look at her, having removed the front half of moss. 

"I don't understand," she said, walking closer. "A bell? Here?"

"This place smells like it hasn't seen a human in a century," Malroth sniffed, scraping the rest of the moss off of the metal. How it hadn't rusted, he wasn't sure. "Seems like that's about to change though, huh?"

Crea's brow furrowed as he stepped away from the cleaned bell.

"You can hit it now, right?" he asked.

"Um…"

"That's not reassuring."

Crea sighed. "Remember when I told you about gratitude?"

"I'm assuming you mean the hearts that you can see pop out of people sometimes?" Malroth asked.

She nodded. "The bells respond to the amount of gratitude from its residents. There isn't anyone around for it to siphon off of right now, so ringing it will do nothing."

Malroth put his hands on his hips, grinning wide. "Then I better get cracking with gratitude, huh?"

Crea adopted a pained expression.

"What?" Malroth said, his smile faltering.

"Um…" she stammered. "Well… I don't know how to tell you this, but… uh…"

"Just spit it out," he demanded.

Crea sighed. "You… don't produce gratitude."

Malroth stared at her. "What…?"

"I've never seen one of those hearts come out of you," she said, embarrassed. 

Malroth felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. "So you mean… on Furrowfield and Khrumbul-Dun and Moonbrooke… I didn't…?"

"Oh Goddess, Malroth, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said anything!" Crea started pacing, talking through her thoughts. "At first I thought it was because you weren't a resident of that specific island, but then it didn't happen on the Isle of Awakening either, and—"

_ "What?"_ Malroth shouted.

Crea slapped a hand over her mouth, looking to him with huge eyes. Malroth was certain his gaze was murderous, he certainly _ felt _murderous. Where were some unfortunate monsters when he needed them? 

"I'll be back," he grunted with effort. He let his anger fuel his sprint, rushing through the broken door and into the forest.

Behind him, Crea slumped to the ground in front of the builder's bell, burying her face in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'know I'm just starting to realize how much I like ending on mini-cliffhangers. I do feel bad about that. I mean you're here in chapter 7, I shouldn't need to keep trying so hard to keep you around, right? XD


	8. Alone Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And if I'd fought with all the strength I held inside_   
_I wouldn't be out here alone tonight_
> 
> In which Malroth navigates some feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but hopefully satisfactory. And a little fluff. :3

Dashing past trees and leaping over small bushes and fallen logs, Malroth was running headlong, branches whipping at his face, cutting and stinging at his cheeks. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision and revealing his anguish.

_ How? _

All that time he had thought he was helping her, traveling through the islands and rebuilding what had been lost. Not only was he incapable of building then, but he hadn't even been helping her with gratitude? With the very thing she needed every step of the way? Tears surged down his face, his helplessness rising into a storm in his belly as his legs and lungs burned. 

_ Why? _

_ Why why why why whywhywhy— _

He burst from the trees, finding himself on the shore. Without a second thought, he didn't slow, only having the foresight to drop his hammer off his back before he dashed into the water. 

He ran as deep as he could until the water up to his waist, and he dived, the salt water filling his nostrils. Malroth swam almost frantically, fighting to keep himself along the bottom as he went. His lungs were burning, but it was not enough.

Slowly, he went deeper, the shallow incline extending further into the bay. His powerful arms swept through the water, pulling himself deeper. His whole chest now felt like it was bursting, but it still was not enough.

The slope began to change imperceptibly, and he maintained his course along the seafloor. Rocks began to show in small formations, and Malroth swam for one, grabbing onto it to keep himself from floating up. His chest burned in dire need for air, and his head began to ache now, sending dizzy feelings through his body and weakening his resolve.

It was enough.

Kicking with desperation off the seafloor, Malroth shot up, darting to the surface. The water rushed past his face and he watched the surface come closer and closer, the sunlight glinting in patterns across the top. He clawed his way the last few feet before he broke through, water cascading around him. He gasped and coughed as tears ran down his face, relief at air overwhelming his desire for pain.

Relief.

But it was short lived. 

All at once the feelings of uselessness returned, and Malroth howled at the sky. The emptiness around him mirrored the emptiness he felt, and his sobs echoed across the water.

He just wanted to help.

He'd only ever just wanted to _ help. _

But it had been Hargon or the Goddess or some other world-forsaken being that had brought him into this world and suppressed his most basic desire aside from living.

_ Why? _

It echoed in his head for a while, his sobs punctuating the air as he stared at the sky. How could he help Crea? He loved her, and although he could build now, amateur though he was, building alone would not be enough to revitalize a city. 

Hell, he didn't even know if there was anyone left on the island to revitalize.

After a time, Malroth felt his floating feet hit the sand, and he stood reluctantly, his hair dripping heavy and limp all over his back. He stumbled back onto land, kneeling in the shallower part of the waterfront. A surge of anger surfaced and he punched at the wet sand, grinding his fist into the surf.

_ "Why?" _ he screamed.

He knew he'd get no answer.

Malroth kept grinding his fist in the hole he'd made, pressing further until the sand wouldn't give way. The course sand scraped at his knuckles as he kept twisting, relishing in the pain. He pulled his hand away, finding no surprise that his hand was bleeding.

He turned his body, falling into a sitting position as the water lapped at his feet. His anger subsided back into despair, and he stared hopelessly out over the water.

"I want to help her," he pleaded to the open air, his voice breaking desperately. "Please, if anyone or anything is listening, at least grant me that."

It was silent for several moments until he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He didn't turn. If it killed him, he would be happy, at least knowing his useless self wouldn't hamper Crea anymore.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crea herself sit down next to him, her legs stretched out into the water like his.

It was a quiet moment. The water lapped quietly at their feet as they sat, neither moving, both staring out at the water. Malroth felt Crea put a hand on his leg, and he squeezed his eyes shut at her reassurance, tears beginning to flood his cheeks.

Crea scooted in close immediately, gently grabbing his head and leading it to her inner shoulder, holding him there. Malroth grabbed onto her waist, clutching at her skirt in desperation. His mouth opened as if to wail, but no sound came. Instead, a voiceless breath almost hissed from his mouth, the tears so sudden and strong it killed his voice.

One sob finally escaped his swollen throat, and it was all over, a torrent of despair pouring out from his heart. Crea sat silently, stroking his back without judgement as he broke down.

"Why?" he whispered.

She shook her head against his hair.

_ "Why?" _ he insisted.

She merely held him closer as he wept against her.

In time he ran out of tears, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest as he shuddered for breath. Crea nuzzled against his wet hair, pressing her nose against his scalp.

"Malroth," she mumbled, her own voice raw.

He rubbed his thumb against her waist, the only signal he could muster to indicate he was listening. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Malroth, with my whole being, I'm so, so sorry. I don't know why we're here. I don't know how to find the answers you're looking for. But I really, _ really _wish I did."

Malroth breathed steadily into her dress, listening.

"All I know is that I love you," she sighed.

"How?" Malroth croaked. "Why? Our whole time together I've done next to nothing while you do all the work. Here, Furrowfield, Moonbrooke, all of it."

"Malroth," she said gently. "I love you because you're my friend, not because you _ do _ things for me."

He sat up. "You're out of your mind."

"Am not," she huffed, letting her arms fall back to her side. "Listen. You didn't follow me out to Furrowfield just because I made you a club, did you?"

Malroth sighed. "I guess not."

"And even if you did, there would've been no reason for you to come with me to Khrumbul-Dun either, right?" Crea put a hand on her hip. "Or did you just do that because you were bored?"

He blushed. "Of course not!"

"Then what makes you think I need you to _ do anything _ for me?"

"Because I love you and that's what people do!" Malroth said loudly. "Isn't it?"

Crea leaned forward, kissing him suddenly. Malroth prickled in surprise before leaning into it, his tension falling away. 

"If you feel like you need to do anything," Crea said, leaning back. "Then do that. I need your companionship, Malroth. More than anything you or I or anyone could ever build."

His breath shuddered as he breathed. He was getting cold. "I don't understand."

"I know," she said, standing up from the damp sand. "You will someday. But right now, we've got work to do." 

She reached out her hand. He took it.


	9. We're All We Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'Cause in your love, I built a home_
> 
> In which Crea builds, thinks, and receives a visitor.

By the time they returned to the abandoned courtyard, Malroth was shivering. He hadn't thought it was cold enough for that, but there were a number of things that had confused him since they'd arrived. What was one more thing?

"I made a small bedroom," she said, digging through her bag as soon as they walked back inside. "If your teeth are chattering that badly, you'll want to rest before we start building around here in earnest."

She pulled out a drab tunic, and he recognized it as one she'd named townsperson togs. She liked the alliteration. In any case, it looked comfortable, with a sash around the midsection and a vest so he wouldn't feel too put off from normal.

"I put every blanket I had in there, so I fully expect you to take a nap," she ordered. "I don't want you getting sick, so no coming out until I come check on you."

Malroth nodded his thanks, the cold clamping his mouth shut. His feet squelched in his shoes as he walked to the small door, and he peeled off what clothing he could before he went in, leaving his wet clothes outside in the grass.

Crea sighed after he disappeared inside, grateful she'd had the foresight to craft a bedroom for their return before she went out after him. Though, she had expected to find him unconscious and surrounded by monsters rather than drenched on the beach. She chewed her lip as she mindlessly placed a scarecrow in the corner of the courtyard, sectioning off a spot for a small garden. His words echoed in her mind as she worked.

_I want to help her. Please, if anyone or anything is listening, at least grant me that._

It had broken her heart. She didn't think he understood just how important he was to her, even if he hadn't built anything or produced gratitude. Hell, even _despite_ all that. He was consistent, and she could rely on him like no one else. They had shared so many secrets and thoughts together that she couldn't imagine life without him. They were best friends. She couldn't ignore the natural closeness that had formed from their adventures.

Huffing as she placed the last fence post, she placed her bag down, pulling out a garden hoe that she'd nicked before leaving. Rosie had actually taught her how to till but refused to let her do it, insisting that the farmers do the work that ran in their blood. It didn't bother Crea enough to fight about it. She rolled up her sleeves now, ready to get to work.

Crea wasn't sure when he had realized their closeness, but she knew she became aware of it the most when they were imprisoned on Skelkatraz. The surprise at his willingness to give up his cabbage, and then go hungry the rest of the time (well, most of the time– she remembered what he'd said about the troll). All the precious time spent together waiting on Molly's bench, just resting and talking. The longing she felt for him when exploring at night, knowing he wished he could be with her, too. She'd caught herself once or twice back then, turning around to look for him and ask him a question about something she was doing. And then the hollow feeling would settle in her stomach, remembering he was trapped more than she was.

She grunted, digging her hoe deep into the dirt. And then there was Moonbrooke, and his darkening expressions as he accused her of replacing him.

_Stop worrying,_ she'd told him. _I could never replace you, Malroth. I promise._

She knew not to hold it against him. It wasn't his fault. She _knew_ that. But she still felt the bitterness about the whole thing in her gut. Crea shook her head, forcing herself to change her thought. But she had made it up to him. She saved him from Hargon's clutches. Saving the world had been a nice bonus on top of that.

With the tilling finished, she dug and filled several trenches with water. Returning to her bag, she mulled over seed choices, turning several over in her hands as she decided.

_Definitely wheat and strawberries. Tomatoes are annoying. Oh, potatoes would be good too, actually. Maybe heatroot and sugar cane in the trenches? Make use of all the space… _

Planting itself was easy and quick. She stood when she was done, admiring her handiwork. Some had already sprouted, encouraged by the damp soil. Crea wiped her hands on a towel. That was one basic need covered. Now they needed…

Crea built the rest of the afternoon, setting up small amenities that she knew they'd need eventually. Kitchen, dining room, toilet, shower… even a space that she planned on turning into a dormitory, once the need was great enough.

She frowned. She _hoped_ there would be need for it.

"Crea?"

She turned at the sound of her name, finding Malroth standing in the doorway to the bedroom, fidgeting with his sash.

"It's getting late," he said.

She blinked. _Oh yeah._ Somehow she'd missed how low the sun was in the sky, the sunset turning the sky orange and pink.

"So it is," she said.

"When were you planning on checking on me?" he asked, unable to hide a mischievous smile.

Oh, she knew _that_ smile. She knew right where this was going.

"I dunno," she said, leaning an arm on her hammer in a blatantly teasing manner. "I'm feeling rather inspired, so I might end up building all night at this rate."

"Are you sure?" Malroth pulled slowly at the tie of his sash, deliberate movements until it slipped from his waist to the ground. "You look like you could use a break."

Crea hummed. "I suppose I could be convinced," she said, walking back to the little room equally as deliberately. She stopped next to the doorframe. "You gonna try to persuade me?"

Malroth took a step forward, standing very close to her as he breathed a kiss on her cheek and placed his hands on her waist. The feathery touch of his lips trailed back to her ear, where she could hear the slight inhale of breath as he lingered.

She felt warm. "You make a good argument," she murmured.

Malroth pulled back, grinning. Without a word he turned, disappearing into the house. Crea smiled, leaving her hammer at the door as she followed him inside.

* * *

The morning light filtered through the bedroom window, causing Crea to stir. She took a big breath as she stretched against the sheets, feeling her skin pulled taut as she arched her back, her hands tucked up behind her head. She groaned in contentment until she collapsed back into the bed.

"Jerk," Malroth grumbled playfully as he rolled over to her, sliding his hand across her bare torso and snuggled up next to her.

Crea giggled. "Good morning, my love," she said, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "Did you sleep well?"

"Probably the best since we left the island," Malroth admitted, grinning. "You look pleased."

"I am pleased," she said. "I woke up next to my favorite person. Today is gonna be great, if that's any indication."

Malroth blushed, nestling his face further into her shoulder.

They stayed for a while, lying in bed and enjoying each other's touch in the quietness of the morning. Malroth listened to her steady breathing, idly wondering if she would fall asleep again. Crea sighed, and he knew that answered that question.

"We should get up," she said gently. "I'm getting hungry."

Malroth grumbled into her arm, slightly increasing his grip on her midsection. "Five more minutes."

Crea laughed softly. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, not opening his eyes.

"Okay," she said, her voice inflicting a clear warning.

Malroth recognized it too slow, not realizing what was happening until her hand was already tickling his armpit. He made a high-pitched, undignified sound, bolting upright and very nearly tumbling off the bed to the floor. Crea began laughing hysterically and Malroth felt his cheeks burn red, and he got up, hurriedly dressing.

"Rude," he griped.

"I warned you!" she said, still laughing.

Malroth grumbled, though they both knew he didn't mean it.

As Crea got dressed, he went outside, noticing the wet dew that brushed against his ankles. He shivered at the touch, scooping up his clothing from the day before and lobbing them unceremoniously into the house despite Crea's protests. _Guess I won't be wearing those today,_ he thought.

He turned, his eyes falling to a dark mound in the entryway. Malroth's eyebrows furrowed and he grabbed Crea's hammer from next to the door, jogging over carefully with the hammer out in front of him.

Drawing near, he saw it was a body, splayed on the ground as though they'd been crawling. Noticing the man's face, it struck Malroth how similar to Perry he looked, though his hair was a much more vibrant shade of red. Fresh, searing scars trailed up the man's arms, looking irritated. _Must've gotten caught up in the fire,_ he realized. Kneeling down, he carefully put his fingers under the man's jaw, searching for a pulse.

"Malroth?" he heard Crea call behind him. "What is it?"

"Hope you've got an extra bed," he called back, tossing the hammer aside and positioning himself to carry the man. "We've got a live one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand now I get to start doing NPC things. hooray. XD
> 
> in case you're wondering, writing _nameless_ NPCs are obnoxious. *headdesk*


	10. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The heavy weight of mourning_   
_Drew each head to face the ground_
> 
> In which they make a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! If you're into RP and you wanna hit it up with Malroth, join the [ DQ Builder's Guild! ](https://discord.gg/5upn4fq) it circles a lot around RP tho so be aware lol. if you join, be nice, or I'm gonna kick you out myself! or just be sad. either way. (I almost exclusively hang out in the pokemon channel though because RP is not my jam but I needed somewhere to fangirl. lmao.)

Malroth hefted the man carefully in his arms, deciding against hoisting him over his shoulder per usual as to not make any of the injuries worse. Crea ran to the area she had sectioned off for the dorm the day before, dropping a bed in the corner. Malroth lumbered over to her, delicately placing the man on the bed. 

Immediately Crea was digging in her bag, pulling out a large handful of medical herbs.

"Don't you need those?" Malroth asked.

"First off, I have over 600 of them, I'm not likely to run out anytime soon," she said, choosing the pouch that had the smallest individual pieces. "Second off, you really think I should be stingy with them even if I_ was _ low?"

"Bad time to ask," Malroth grumbled.

Crea kneeled down next to the bed, gingerly opening the man's mouth. She placed a few shreds of the herb on his tongue, satisfied and relieved when they dissolved instantly. Emptying the pouch over several mouthfuls, they watched intently as they waited for the herbs to take effect.

The man's breathing seemed to stabilize, already sounding stronger. His brown eyes slowly flickered open, gradually focusing on the two of them. Crea noticed the defeated look that plagued him, and she worried suddenly that maybe he didn't want to be saved. 

"You're awake," she said, trying to sound welcoming. 

"Welcome to here," Malroth piped up from behind her. "We're still deciding on names for the place."

The man blinked, eventually registering what was happening. "Am I dead?" he croaked.

"No," Crea said. "We found you collapsed outside, so we brought you in."

"I don't think you understand," the man said gruffly. "I came here to die. You should have left me."

"How were we supposed to know that, you overgrown lobster?" Malroth growled, stomping his foot. "You could at least show some gratitude!"

"Thanks but no thanks," the man grunted. "You wanna do me a solid? Bash my head in with that hammer of yours and put me out of my misery. There ain't nothing around here worth saving." He rolled over abruptly, facing what was finished of the wall. 

Malroth was about to argue some more, but Crea grabbed his hand and led him away before he could protest. He followed her back to the garden, where she let go and turned around.

"How could you let him talk to you like that?" Malroth said. "Nobody gets away with that, not even me!"

"He'll come around," she said, though she sounded a lot less confident than usual. "I mean, this is always how it starts, right? Everybody wary, doesn't want to help, then turns around when they realize we're not harbingers of doom."

"There's usually been_ one _ local that believed in us at the beginning," Malroth grumbled. "And anyway, we haven't seen anyone else this whole time. Are we supposed to start from zero? We've never had to do that before."

"That's probably why he doesn't wanna stick around," she said, her eyes widening at the realization. 

"Doesn't want to work?" Malroth asked, tilting his head.

"No." She shook her head. "Everyone else he knew is probably dead."

Uncomfortable silence settled between them for a moment. Crea was getting more agitated, and Malroth put a hand on her arm.

"Hey," he said.

"I don't know," she said, sighing. "I just… we need people."

"But in order to get people, we either have to find them ourselves or hope the bell brings them here," Malroth said, voicing her thoughts. 

Crea pinched the bridge of her nose. "And we can't exactly leave Mr. Lobster on his own now in case he ends his life like he wanted in the first place," she sighed. 

"Mr. Lobster?" Malroth echoed, a grin donning his face. 

"You started it," she said, lightly punching his arm. 

He grabbed his arm in mock pain. "Oof! When did you get so strong?" he teased. 

Crea rolled her eyes, trying to suppress a smile. 

Malroth reached up to put his hands on her cheek, looking deeply into her eyes with a soft smile of his own. "There's my builder," he said gently. He kissed her forehead.

Crea reached forward to hug him. He reciprocated, holding her close as she breathed deeply into his shirt. 

"Thanks," she said. "Y'know, it's kinda nice hugging you without your bone necklace. I get stabbed a lot less."

Malroth huffed, turning away and grumbling. Crea laughed. 

Mindful of their extra resident, the two of them continued to build their little town. Malroth gleefully broke away the broken stone in the outer walls, climbing and thinning the ivy that hung in huge canopies. Crea filled in the cracks and laid the foundations for other buildings, not completely decided on what she wanted in them just yet. All the while, the red-haired man lay still, breathing but otherwise uninterested in his surroundings. 

In the evening, Malroth and Crea huddled together next to a bonfire, roasting slime buns on skewers over the heat. From the darkness, they saw the red-haired man emerge, standing awkwardly at the edge of the light.

"Decided to join in, huh?" Malroth said, pointing at him with his skewer.

Crea elbowed him hard, causing him to yelp. "Don't mind him. He's sarcastic on the best of days. You okay?" she asked.

The man fidgeted with his hands for a moment. "It, uh… smells nice out here." He looked uncomfortable, as though he knew he wasn't welcome. 

Crea smiled warmly, offering her skewer to him. "There's plenty, though you'll have to roast it yourself."

The man took a tentative step forward, skirting around the fire in a wide arc. Crea blinked.

"Oh!" she said. "The fire probably makes you nervous! Don't worry, I'll make one for you, you don't have to come closer." Assembling the bun, Crea held it out over the flame, rotating it to heat evenly. 

Malroth leaned back. "We're not gonna bite," he said, assembling another bun for himself. 

"Don't be mean," Crea chided. "If he doesn't wanna get close, he doesn't have to."

The man looked back and forth between them for a moment. "Just who are you people?" he asked.

"I'm Crea," she said, smiling. 

"Builder extraordinaire," Malroth added. "I'm Malroth, destruction expert. We're here to rebuild the island!"

"You're wasting your time," the man grumbled.

Crea and Malroth exchanged glances. "What's your name?" Crea asked, ignoring his objection.

"Garrick," he said. "Ideally we won't know each other long."

"You're a barrel of fun," Malroth grunted. 

"I bet you'd be too if you came home to find your entire life wiped off the map," Garrick snapped.

The air around them grew cold, sending a wave of embarrassment down both of their spines. 

"Oh Goddess," Crea whispered. "We saw the crater. I'm so sorry."

"Fat lot of good the Goddess did us," Garrick murmured. "I'd hoped the legend of the island would help me out, but then I went and found you two instead."

"Legend?" Malroth echoed.

"What, you ain't from around here?" Garrick shook his head. "The stories say this place used to be a mighty castle, but one day the queen died and the king burned down the place in his sorrow. The oracles of the time all said the land would be reborn with the sound of the bell, but the one that stood in the courtyard was stuck in place so nobody could ring it. If ever a time I needed the world to be reborn, it was now. So I tried to come do it."

"That's not how the bell works," Malroth said. Crea elbowed him again. "Would you stop that?" he hissed.

If Garrick noticed, he didn't comment. Crea pulled the bun away from the fire, the toasted outside steaming lightly. 

"Here," she said, handing him the skewer.

He grunted in thanks, taking it from her and beginning to eat. "Where did you two come from, anyway?" he asked.

"A place called the Isle of Awakening," Crea said. "It's far to the east of here."

"Why'd you bother coming here?"

"Adventure," Malroth answered flatly. "...ish. We were told there was something… important here."

Garrick scoffed. "Take a look around," he said. "Everything's burning, or already burnt. This may be the safest part of the country, but whatever you were looking for is probably already gone."

"What were their names?" Crea asked suddenly.

"What?" both men echoed.

"Their names," Crea repeated, looking purposely at Garrick. "Of the people you lost."

Garrick looked embarrassed, softening slightly. "Zona," he whispered, reverently. "She was my wife. A real spitfire of a lady. Didn't take any sass from anybody." A smile blossomed. "And Brinley, my daughter," he added, his voice cracking. "I don't know what happened. I left to go hunting. I was supposed to be gone a week. While I was gone I saw the sky get dark, and a giant flame came from the sky. It landed so close I knew immediately they were gone." Garrick sighed.

"I'm sorry," Crea said.

"Yeah, well…" he trailed off, not knowing how to finish his sentence. "Thanks," he muttered. 

Malroth saw a glint in Crea's eye. It was subtle, and he would have missed it had he not seen it every day for the last few months. He hid his grin. Something was up.

"We should probably rest," Crea said finally. "Provided you've eaten enough."

"I'll be fine," Garrick said, rising. He wandered back to his bed as Malroth extinguished the fire.

"I saw that," he said softly, and Crea circled around to where Garrick was sitting moments before. "What's up?"

"Our first gratitude," Crea grinned, swiping her foot through thin air near the ground. "And I have an idea how we can get a little more, too."

* * *

The next morning was calm. Crea showed Malroth how to harvest, carefully coaching him in how to separate the fruits from their respective plants. Malroth was skittish about it at first, even when her patient smile told him he was fine. He'd spent so long telling himself that he couldn't build that it was a hard habit to break as soon as he actually could. An unfortunate side effect from his efforts blowing up on every builder's table for months.

After breakfast, Crea started working on something specific outside the walls, propping horizontal wooden planks into a ledge. Malroth didn't question her outright, but it was still in his eyes. She built it up into a small, covered pavilion by mid afternoon, setting up outward-facing benches to look over the burnt, cratered landscape. Garrick came out to observe after a while, standing back at the fortress walls in case he wasn't wanted. They let him watch in peace.

It was when she set a large polished marble slab in the middle about an hour later that she turned to Garrick. "What was the name of your town?"

"What?" He was visibly surprised, responding more out of shock than an actual question. "Uh, Gelte. Why?"

Crea produced a chisel from her bag. She turned and began carving out the stone, pausing every few letters to blow away the dust. Overcome with curiosity Garrick crept closer, keeping a wary eye on Malroth, who tried very hard to look nonchalant. Garrick tried to get a glimpse of what she was writing, but couldn't see unless he got right up over her shoulder. He took a seat on a bench instead.

Crea stood straight a few minutes later, brushing the last flecks of debris from the face of the monument. She moved and sat, letting Garrick stand to read her inscription as he walked closer to it.

_ We honor the people of Gelte and the rest of Aletia who lost their lives to the great fire. May they know peace. _

Garrick covered his mouth, touched. "You did this?"

Crea smiled gently, knowing he wasn't actually asking.

Garrick ran a hand over the cool marble, his fingers tracing each letter. He glanced up at the barren landscape every so often, then moved forward to sit and stare over the bay. Crea stood then, heading back inside the fortress with Malroth trailing behind her.

"Why'd you do that?" Malroth asked quietly. "I don't get it."

"It's a remembrance stone," she explained. "You build one after tragedy, most times. Remember gravestones? And how people's names are inscribed in them sometimes? This is an easier way to remember all of them."

Malroth nodded, understanding. "Efficient. But why?"

"It seemed like a nice thing to do."

"...And?"

Crea grinned. "Well, I mean there's the _ slight _ ulterior motive that it'll make him happy which means I can ring the bell."

"Sneaky." It was Malroth's turn to grin. "I must be rubbing off on you."

"In more ways than one."

Malroth slapped his forehead in embarrassment and she laughed. 

"Crea, was it?"

They turned, seeing Garrick standing behind them. If he'd heard her inappropriate comment, he didn't show it.

"Yep, that's me. Need something?"

"I wanted to say thank you," he said, sighing. "And sorry. I've been rude."

"Understandably so," Crea said. "I don't hold it against you."

"I do," he said. "The remembrance stone was… very kind. I was thinking about my Zona and realized she'd be disappointed in me if I didn't do my best with what I had."

Crea smiled. "She sounds wonderful."

"I want to help," he added. "To honor her."

Malroth grinned. _ Here it goes. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> funfact sometimes my family will toast dough over the fire to make little cups and then we'll fill them with jelly and whipped cream. so good. that's what I was thinking of with the slime buns.
> 
> plot plot plot plot! things are starting to happen now
> 
> ALSO TEN CHAPTERS WTF thank you all for joining me on this adventure <3 you all make my heart so happy and I've been so motivated to update for all of you!!! (and there's a lot of you holy hannah)
> 
> thank you for being here!!!!!!!! <3


	11. Leave the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For now I will stay alive_
> 
> In which they get the lay of the land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is when things start getting EXCITING.
> 
> enjoy~

Garrick made his home in the fields, tending to the plants. He hadn't been a farmer Before, back in Gelte, but instead had raised livestock for another resident. It was very different from the plant side of farming, he had assured Crea, and she smiled pleasantly while thinking back to the Furrowfield farmers.

Two days passed. Malroth assisted Crea rebuilding both the watchtower and the outer spires of the walls. The hope was that if it looked different, it might encourage people to come check it out. If the bell didn't pull them in first, that is.

"You think it'll be much longer before you can ring the bell?" Malroth asked, taking a break next to the last broken spire.

Crea hummed. "I dunno. Garrick doesn't leave a lot around; it's mostly when he eats and wakes up. Usually the bells don't need a _ lot _ for its first strike, but this one has been out of touch with people for a lot longer. It might need more than the others." She sighed. "It starts shining easier when it's ready. Guess we won't know until then."

"Think we'd be safe trying to go out and find one or two more to bring back?" Malroth suggested, scratching at his ear. "Especially now that we know Garrick won't do anything brash while we're gone?"

"Probably. We should finish this spire first though. Garrick might have some ideas for us too if we ask."

It was dinnertime by the time they finished, and they climbed down to join Garrick by the fire. Crea had built up a proper fire pit, leaving room to congregate around it while not having to worry about getting singed.

"Do you know if there were other settlements we can go visit?" Malroth asked him point blank, his mouth full of food. 

"Stop talking with your mouth full," Crea grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"My lil' girl was just getting into that phase, it's no worry," Garrick said, a wistful smile tugged at his lips.

Malroth forcefully swallowed. "What? It's not that bad!"

"It's rude and gross," Crea corrected. "I don't wanna see that!"

Garrick sniggered. "I could tell you where they used t'be," he said, getting back to the point. "Dunno if anyone's left though."

"Are they far?" Crea asked.

"The closest one used to be Gelte, but uh, you know all about that. There's one that was due east of here, Uralir. That's probably the next closest. It had a moat, so maybe it survived. Otherwise there's Sessan in the desert to the west. Dunno how a fire would've reached it there. Then there's a big castle to the northeast of here, Calor. It was pretty big, so maybe it had enough defenses for it."

"That must be the one we saw on the way in," Malroth said, exchanging a look with Crea.

Garrick sighed. "Must've been bad if you're discounting it already."

"Smelled awful," Malroth said, sticking his tongue out.

"We found a port way up to the northwest, that's where we landed," Crea said.

"Genola? How was it?"

"Flattened," Malroth said. "Foundations were all that was left."

Garrick pursed his lips. "There's one last city in the south, Laic. It's always been sturdy. There's a bit of mountains if you try to get it from the bay, but from the ocean it's a straight shot."

"Sounds like we ought to wait for Brownbeard on that one," Crea said. "What do you think, Malroth? Uralir?"

"You're the boss," was his reply.

After climbing up to the east spire, Crea sat on Malroth's shoulders, her windbreaker already unfurled and flapping in the faint breeze.

"Ready?" Malroth asked.

Crea held her arms out.

Malroth ran to the edge, leaping off and holding tight to her legs. They sailed through the air, taking in the patches of green that dotted the otherwise scorched landscape. In the distance, Malroth spotted a ring of water and he tugged on her right leg to get her attention. She saw it too and angled her direction towards it.

They landed carefully, Malroth catching the ground first and running to a stop. Crea slid off.

"It didn't look too far away from here," she said, unclipping the windbreaker from her arms.

"I couldn't see what was left, though," Malroth said. "Just the moat."

Crea sighed. "I hope somebody survived. This island is a mess."

"Tell me about it."

"It'll take years before grass can grow here again. Awful dirt. And who knows how long before the population fills out again!"

"You didn't need to actually tell me about it."

Crea gave him a deadpanned frown, stark contrast to his smug grin. "So funny."

"I know," Malroth said, flexing.

They walked among the burnt trees in relative silence, their feet occasionally crunching through the crisp remains of the undergrowth.

"Do you wonder how this helps you?" Crea asked after a while.

"Hmm?"

"This island. It's been desolation since we got here, and supposedly you're supposed to get answers about yourself."

_ Oh yeah. _ "Well, now I do," he said, hopping over a fallen tree trunk. "And I hope the message isn't _ you are still the bringer of destruction."_

"If that overgrown flying fish is still in you, I swear—"

Malroth smiled to himself. _She's got my back_.

The closer they got, the more they could see of the town. It looked promising, given the bleak backdrop of dead trees. A handful of trees on the outer rim of the city looked scorched, but the buildings themselves looked untouched.

"Looks like the city did okay, even if their bridge didn't," Malroth said, approaching said structure.

"They might've broken it themselves to keep the fire out," Crea said, pointing to the middle. "That edge is too clean for it to be from fire."

"You got enough wood in there?"

Crea scoffed, pulling materials almost out of thin air. "You're really asking?"

Malroth smiled, accepting a stack of boards from her. "I like seeing the look on your face when you show off."

At Crea's direction and instruction, the bridge was easily repaired. She couldn't get the railings to match though, given the singular type of wood she had on her.

"I don't like how it doesn't match," she grumbled, looking between the lighter and darker wood. "I wonder what type of wood this is that makes it so dark...?"

Malroth grabbed her hand, pulling her across the bridge. "We're here for the people, remember? Fix it later."

"That reminds me," Crea said, catching up so she could walk on her own. "We weren't exactly quiet. Why didn't anyone come to see what was going on?"

Malroth chewed his lip. He had a funny feeling about that…

Loud, high-pitched cackling greeted them, making them freeze and brandish their hammers.

"I don't like the sound of that," Crea murmured. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malroth's tense expression, his jaw clenched shut and eyes narrowed too much for her liking. "What's wrong?"

"It sounded almost like Hargon's laugh," Malroth growled. "Just lower."

_Oh. Oh no. _ Crea tightened her grip on her hammer. Malroth stretched his neck, popping it before running forward across the bridge. Surprised, Crea ran after him.

They slid into the center square, stopping when they saw a figure hovering in the air with it's back to them. It looked like one of the many Shaman they'd fought before: blue gloves and purple robes, as well as a long golden staff with a red orb on the top. Unlike the others, this one had a wide set of horns on the side of its head. Malroth could already picture the thing's mask. The creature cackled again, pointing its staff at a nearby house.

"Your destruction is at hand! Show yourselves and embrace your ruin!"

Malroth grit his teeth. "Hey, poncho! You want destruction? I'll give you destruction!" He ran and leapt forward, batting at the monster's side.

The Shaman tumbled in the air, head over feet until it stopped, shaking its head and grumbling. "Foolish mortal! Hargon and the Lord of Destruction have begun the purification of the world. You cannot stop them!"

Malroth scoffed. "Bit behind the times, ain'tcha? That was weeks ago. We were there when he started! And we smashed his face in!"

"Frivolous lies," the Shaman spat. "No way two _ humans _could've defeated Hargon."

"Yeah, well, I got news for you." Malroth stood up straight, propping his hammer on his shoulder and trying to look as intimidating as he could. "Hargon's master? That's me. Malroth. I'm the Lord and Master of Destruction."

Though he couldn't see his face, Malroth could feel him scrutinizing his whole body, eyeing him carefully. Eventually, the Shaman burst into laughter, doubling over in the air.

"Reckless and delusional," the Shaman laughed. "As if Master Malroth would deign to look like a _human."_

Malroth growled, pointing. "You want a demonstration, you faceless windbag?"

"Oh please," the Shaman snickered, the red crystal in his staff beginning to glow. "You do not know power."

A laser shot out from his staff, hitting the ground in front of Malroth and triggering a violent explosion. Malroth flew back through the air before he slid several feet, tumbling. His momentum came to a stop and he rose to his feet, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Malroth!" Crea shouted, running towards him.

The Shaman made a pleased sound. "Hah! You aren't as frail as you look!" He turned, his staff following Crea as she ran. "Will she fare the same?"

"Crea, no!" Malroth shouted, dropping his hammer and sprinting towards her.

Her eyes widened as she turned to look. The orb captivated her and she slowed, hesitating. Malroth dashed forward, sliding in front of her just as the blast from the Shaman's staff hit the ground. Absorbing most of the blow, Malroth went flying a second time, bouncing head over heels until his entire body slid face-down against the town's paved road.

He didn't stand.

"Malroth!" Crea ran to him as the Shaman laughed behind her.

"Fine! You've proved entertaining enough. I'll spare this place for now. Rest assured I'll be back!" He spun in the air, the magic from his staff encircling him in a white glow as he disappeared.

Crea fell on her knees at Malroth's side, pushing at his shoulder to roll him onto his back. The left side of his face was bleeding, as well as a couple places on his chest. "Malroth? Malroth!" she called, feeling his chest and patting his face. In a moment of clarity, she felt under his jawbone, searching for a pulse. She tried to steady her own breathing, but her own heartbeat throbbed in her fingertips.

"Goddess, Malroth! Wake up!"

Another woman appeared on Malroth's other side, feeling under the other side of his chin. She was young, her long hair a dark brown and pulled back in a headband.

"I can't find his pulse," Crea whispered.

The women's eyebrows knit together as she concentrated. "I feel it," she said, her voice hinting of an accent. "Is weak, but there. You have medicine?"

"Oh! Yes of course!" Crea dug into her bag at her waist, pulling out several pouches. She put several pieces on his tongue, watching them dissolve before adding more. She was about to open a second pouch when Malroth stirred, groaning weakly.

"Malroth!" Crea said, relief rushing through her so fast it made her lightheaded.

"Where'd the monster go?" he asked, his words slurring together.

"He left." Crea shook her head. "But never mind that, what were you thinking?"

"Had to protect you," he mumbled.

"You know I can take a few hits!" she complained.

"I hate to interject," the woman said, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "But is very weak. You would do well to let him rest."

Crea looked up at the woman.

"Yeah Crea," he teased, his voice catching slightly. "I need to rest."

"Don't you start," Crea grumbled, giving him a look. She turned back to the woman. "Where should I take him?"

The woman motioned to the nearest house, standing. "Here. I will prepare a bed." She disappeared through the door, leaving it open behind her.

Crea pulled his arm over her neck, urging him upright. He groaned, at least having enough strength to stand with her help. They staggered together to the doorway, Malroth grabbing the door frame for extra support before ducking inside.

It was a modest house, the front room and kitchen in one large combined room, leading to a doorway on the far wall, where the woman reappeared.

"Here," she said, motioning.

Crea followed her to a back bedroom, carefully depositing Malroth on the bed. He grunted, lying down with effort.

"Don't worry," Malroth said softly, noticing Crea's concern. "I'll be fine tomorrow. I always am."

"I know," Crea nodded, sighing as she turned to leave. "But that never keeps me from worrying about you."

Crea closed the door behind her, and Malroth let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the purpose of combat I'm just having Crea use hammers instead of swords. because swords are complicated. also, the ulti-mallet doesn't make as much sense in a non-block-world context? so she's just using the warhammer. it just makes my narrative easier. <3


	12. There's Only You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the stillness of an empty room_   
_In the face of every settled moon_
> 
> In which Malroth recovers. Mostly.

Crea walked back out into the front room, huffing as she smoothed her hair and clothes nervously.

"Is alright?" the woman asked, perched on her sofa.

Crea nodded. "I think so. Thank you for your help."

The woman smiled. "I am Damara."

"Crea," she said, sitting in a chair. The adrenaline was fast fading, and she was getting tired. 

"Not many people came to Uralir even before the great fire," Damara said gently. "What brings you here?"

There was a knock at the door frame, interrupting them. "Damara? Are you here? Are you okay?"

A woman came in without waiting for a response, her gray hair all gathered to one side of her neck. The woman caught sight of Crea and froze midstep. Crea offered a weak smile. 

"Yes, am fine," Damara said, drawing the woman's attention for a moment. 

The woman nodded at Damara before turning to Crea. "Who are you? And what is your business here?"

"We're rebuilding a castle," Crea explained. "We thought it would be smart to gather up any survivors so we could all work together in a central location."

Damara hummed. "Sensible. You make camp at Calor or the island?"

"The island. Calor is gone."

The woman stared slack jawed as Damara hummed again.

"I'm not leaving," the woman huffed, her hands on her hips. There was something about her stance that reminded Crea briefly of Lulu.

"Didn't you hear Zeligon say he would return?" Damara said, her calm face belying her firm words. "Calor has been lost. What chance have we here?"

"As if there's anywhere else sensible we can go." 

"Island, remember?" Crea said, pointing in its general direction. She was glad Malroth wasn't here for this conversation. She could only imagine how frustrated he'd already be.

"That island is dangerous!" the woman almost shouted.

"Isra," Damara chided. "Just because you believe the spirit stories doesn't mean they're true."

"Spirit stories?" Crea repeated.

"Haunted," Isra said, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "You know the story about the king, Damara! He's still there, I know it."

Damara's expression was blank as she and Isra stared at each other for a moment.

"So that Shaman," Crea said, hoping to break the tension. "His name is Zeligon?"

Damara nodded. "Devoted to Hargon, but up until recently had only been… how you say, enthusiastic. More of an annoyance rather than a threat."

"At least until that meteor came down on Gelte," Isra grumbled. "Then he took it upon himself to help destruction as much as possible and set fire to everything. If he did it around here, keeping things spreading for weeks, he's probably done it all over the island."

"We docked in… whatever that northwest town is called," Crea said. "I forget. Hardly any greenery until we got to the bay."

Isra's face paled. "Genola? Goddess…"

Damara's look hardened, looking intently at Isra. "We _ have _ to leave. We cannot stay here."

"What makes you think the island will be safer?" she snapped.

"In all of the history since that incident, it has been spared everything but decay," Damara explained. "Rubiss watches over that place, though I cannot explain why. And you_ know _ it's not haunted."

Isra thought on it for a moment, visibly turning the argument over in her mind. "Fine," she sighed, relenting. "But you can't make me leave before tomorrow."

"Is good," Damara said. "Inform the others. We will leave as soon as her friend recovers."

"Friend? You mean that boy that took two explosions to the head?"

Crea nodded.

"And he still lives?" Isra asked, dumbfounded.

"He's rather stubborn about these things," Crea explained with a sad smile. 

Isra shook her head, disappearing through the door without another word.

"Damara," Crea said, catching her eye. "I'm also a little bit… tired. Do you mind if I go stay with Malroth a bit?"

"Certainly," she said, gesturing. "Is extra blankets in the dresser."

Crea thanked her, retreating to the room. With the door shut firmly behind her, Crea watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest for a moment. His breathing was quiet, a hand resting on his stomach and the other splayed next to his head. Crea looked him over, taking note of the cuts on his torso and face. They looked better already, even though they were scabbed. It didn't look like they would scar, in any case. She wondered if he would be disappointed about that.

Crea carefully pried the dresser open, pulling out a worn quilt. Setting it up on the floor, she laid on it next to his bed. She could only hear his breathing from her position, but she listened to him, relieved he had lived. 

_ Reckless. _

It couldn't be helped. It was Malroth after all, and as much as she didn't want him getting hurt, she couldn't force him to stop.

His steady breaths pulled her focus, and she was lulled by their smoothness until she too had fallen asleep.

* * *

Malroth could hear Hargon laughing.

In the darkness, Malroth whirled around, looking for the priest. "Show yourself!" he demanded. "Fight me properly!" 

"Show yourself!" Hargon mocked, laughing. "I'll show myself once Master Malroth has awakened!"

A painful fire erupted in his chest and he yelled, apparitions of landscape appearing in the corners of his eyes. He swung wildly, not understanding why his arms were scaly green with pointed talons. When he looked at his hands, they were still his hands. Why were they doing this? What was happening?

"Yes," Hargon cooed in his ear. "This world is yours to destroy!"

Malroth swiped again, spinning around in an attempt to swat Hargon away. There was nothing but laughter. He grit his teeth.

"Perhaps destroying your builder friend would put you at ease," Hargon's voice echoed from somewhere. Another apparition, this time Crea stood on a cliff face with a white skeleton. They were talking about something.

"Crea," he whispered, reaching. His arm transformed again. "Crea!"

He tried to reach out, to touch her. Maybe if he grabbed her, he could pull her in with him. She would find a way out of this. She and the skeleton attacked his hand instead, not understanding he wasn't trying to hurt them. 

"Crea!" Malroth called, aching. His arms were hurting too much. He couldn't keep going. He withdrew his arm, pulling it close to his chest as the vision faded away.

"Crea, Crea!" Hargon mimicked, his voice high pitched in overdrawn mocking. "Just wait until you can destroy her! Then you can hear her calling your name one last time." Hargon's head appeared faintly in the distance, grinning cruelly. "Malroth," he called, mocking his voice as before. "Malroth, Malroth!"

Malroth clutched at his head. "Stop!"

"Malroth!" 

Pain bloomed in his chest again.

"Malroth! Wake up!"

_...Crea? _

He recognized her voice, and his eyes snapped open.

A cold sweat covered his body, head to toe, and he was breathing sharply. He was lying in bed, moonlight streaming through the windows. _ Oh right._ He remembered the lady that helped them. His vision focused and found Crea hovering over him, shaking his shoulders.

"Malroth?" she asked, voice breaking. 

"Crea," he whispered, panting.

Crea buried her head on his shoulder, and Malroth moved his hand to her back, tears springing up in his eyes.

"Why won't the nightmares stop?" he asked, his throat tightening around each word. "Why do I have to relive Malhalla over and over again?"

She shook her head against his skin. 

"That's not what I am," Malroth said, tightening his grip around her. "Right? I'm not a monster. I'm not a senseless killer. Right?"

"You have never been," she murmured.

"Can I hold you?" Malroth asked, uneasy.

Crea climbed in next to him wordlessly, the bed creaking in complaint. Malroth held her close, her presence grounding him back into reality. He pressed his face to her forehead gently, kissing it and taking in the sweet smell of her hair. 

"I'm sorry," Malroth said, running his fingers through her hair at the base of her scalp. "For scaring you all the time."

She rubbed at his back. "We'll figure it out together," she murmured.

Malroth listened to her breathing slow as she went back to sleep. He was tired and sore, but admittedly scared to go back to sleep himself. He knew he wasn't afraid of the dark, not really. And even if he was, he knew it wasn't the darkness _ around _ him that he was afraid of, but rather the darkness _ inside _ him. Malroth sighed softly, closing his eyes. And what could he or Crea or anyone really do against that? 

* * *

Damara rummaged around her kitchen as breakfast simmered on the fire. A knapsack sat open on the table, stuffed with keepsakes and food. They would have to travel light to make it to the island, she knew. Carts would only slow them down. _ No doubt Isra tries to bring one anyway, _she mused.

She had always loved this village, moving here with her parents when she was young. She was old now, and the village had somehow made her acting leader, however unofficially. She welcomed the people to challenge her decisions often. It would keep her mind open.

Damara looked sadly to her parent's portraits over the fireplace, thinking on how they raised her and how grateful she was for them. The pictures would be too big to take with her. 

"Who are they?"

Damara turned to Crea's voice, greeting her. "My parents," she said.

"They look lovely," Crea said, pausing to admire.

"They were," Damara said. "They worked very hard to be accepted here. I don't think there was anyone who didn't consider them a friend."

"What happened?"

"Old age." Damara waved her hand, nonchalant. "I wish I could take them with me."

"Traveling light?" Malroth said, walking into the room. 

Damara was surprised at how well he'd recovered for having been knocked out the day before. "Yes," she said. "I think it wise not to linger in the open."

Malroth nodded. "You must be Damara."

"Indeed. Malroth, was it?"

He nodded again. "Thanks for letting me take over your room last night," he said.

Damara smiled. "Is no trouble. You seem to have recovered well. But how soon can you travel?"

"I'm fine," Malroth said. "My legs still work. It was mostly my upper body that got beat up, anyway."

Damara hummed. "You have a slight limp."

"I… what? No I don't!"

She laughed pleasantly. "You're right, you don't. I couldn't help but tease a little."

Malroth relaxed, leaning back with his hand on his hip. "I like her," he whispered to Crea.

"Are we gonna try to leave today, do you think?" Crea asked, ignoring him. "How many of you are there, anyway?"

"I would like to try to leave soon, provided everyone has their belongings ready to go. Is ten of us left, including myself."

"That's not bad," Malroth grinned.

Damara pursed her lips. "Was more of us, but many fled preemptively."

His smile faltered. "Oh…"

"Breakfast is in the pan," Damara added, sweeping towards the door. "I'll check on the others."

They helped themselves to the food, steaming omelets with various veggies mixed in, and fried potatoes on the side. There was even a cheese sauce, simmering.

"Ten people is a lot for not even ringing the bell yet," Malroth said. "I still say we're doing pretty well."

"It didn't sound like there are many people left on the island at all, though," Crea countered. "We might just be getting the whole town all at once, rather than in waves."

Malroth nodded. "Think we'll have a hard time getting back?"

"As soon as I answer that, _ something _will make sure it goes wrong." Crea blew on her fork, dispersing the steam. "Ask me when we get home."

"Tch, fine."

They ate in silence, savoring the flavors and thinking about the return trip. Under ideal circumstances it wouldn't take a long time, but navigating the peninsula could prove troublesome. Especially if children were involved. Crea hadn't thought to ask. 

Both looked up wordlessly to Damara when she returned, who strode right to her knapsack and hoisted it on her shoulder. A well worn bow was in her hands a second later, a quiver strapped at her waist. She looked almost regal as she turned, commanding their attention. 

"We'll be done shortly. Join us outside when you're ready."


	13. Break the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's the sticks and stones that wear us down that often save our lives_
> 
> In which we get on the road again.

The sun was still low in the sky when they stepped outside, the chill of early morning tickling their cheeks. It was crisp. That was the best way she could describe it. Crea hoped they would have luck on their side going back to the island.

They looked around, gaining their bearings in the bustle of people getting ready. Crea spotted Isra, hovering in front of a house with a man, conversing and ticking off her fingers like a checklist. _ Her husband, probably, _ Crea thought. There were two girls around their feet, anxious to expend energy but also nervous about the change in the air. They had to be young, probably six and ten if she had to guess, but she'd never been good at guessing ages.

Beyond them, she spotted two other couples, one of which with an older teenage son. They all looked to be close to ready, shuffling nervously and adjusting their bags on their backs. 

"Y'know, ten _ sounds _like a big number," Malroth said under his breath.

"Bit different looking at it, huh?" Crea replied.

"Crea."

She looked up at her name, spotting Damara striding towards her.

"I believe we are ready," she said. "Normally I would introduce you to the rest, but I feel we can do that on the way or once we arrive at the fortress. Zeligon could be back at any time."

Crea nodded. "All right," she said, the other nine townsfolk grouping around them. "Assuming optimal conditions, we should be back in about a day."

Damara nodded, walking purposefully to the repaired bridge. "Then we go."

The morning passed easily as they walked, though they all had been quiet at the devastation for most of it. Even the little girls were silent, sensing the gravity of what had happened. Damara was ever alert, scanning the horizon for anything out of the ordinary. 

"Where did you learn to shoot?" Crea asked sometime in the mid afternoon. 

"My da," Damara said, still observing the land. "I wanted to learn, and he said he wouldn't stop me. He taught me further after I had trained under some local hunters. I have fond memories of hunting with him in the fall."

"Is it painful, then?" Malroth asked. 

"Is what?"

"All of this," he said, motioning around them. 

"The loss of a parent is always profound, provided you loved them in the first place," Damara said gently. "Is painful even if the land had not burned."

Crea caught the hurt and lost look that passed over Malroth's face. He wouldn't know anything about that. Did he even have parents? 

They stopped for dinner in the barren landscape, trying to make use of the last rays of sunlight. Crea and Malroth were introduced to the group as they ate, all taking turns to say their names. 

"Will we keep moving or stop for the night?" Crea later asked Damara. "I know the moon is bright enough for tonight that we could see where we're going, but I worry about the kiddos."

Damara pursed her lips. "We need to keep moving," she said firmly. "If Zeligon realizes we're unprotected, he may try to do something about it."

Isra's girls scrubbed at their eyes, blinking away sleep. Crea sighed. She was right, of course. She had to wonder how much time they would actually save this way.

"I told you we needed the cart!" Isra snapped. "Making them trudge on through the night like this, it's—"

"I could carry one," Malroth offered, shrugging. "Easily. Plenty of practice lugging Crea around whenever a monster beat her up too bad."

"H-hey!" Crea stomped, embarrassed. 

Malroth grinned, turning to the elder daughter. "What do you think, Kat? Fancy hanging out with me?"

Kat seemed to shrink a little, a move Crea noticed in a heartbeat. "I think she's scared of you," Crea shot back, sticking out her tongue.

Malroth pouted, sticking his bottom lip out in jest. "But I'm nice!"

"And scary looking… What?" she added at the look on his face. "She's ten! It's true!"

The younger daughter, Ali, seemed to ignore the protests and carefully trundled over to Malroth. He stared down at the six-year-old for a brief moment before she held her hands up towards his shoulders.

"Yeah, see?" Malroth said triumphantly, hoisting the small girl up into his arms. "Ali has taste!" He stuck his tongue out to Crea, who rolled her eyes as Ali nestled into his shoulder. Malroth wordlessly adjusted the bones on his necklace, pushing them around to his back so as not to poke her. Ali easily relaxed in Malroth's grip, and Kat mumbled something to her mother.

"Kat thinks she can make it," Isra said. "And I think provided we all get to bed early as soon as we get there, we can too."

Damara nodded, plucking her bowstring nervously. "Let's get going."

The night was pleasantly cool. The moon was bright despite not being full, its light drowning out the stars. Crea fell in step with Malroth, trekking wordlessly by each other. They were reluctant to speak due to the child in his strong arms, but there was a silent communication between them, reaffirming each other's presence. Malroth drifted over after a while, purposefully bumping against her with his hip. Crea grinned at him, staying silent for Ali who snored slightly. 

The rustle of their movement was all they really heard as they walked, aside from a sparse number of whispers that floated through every so often. Eventually, Crea started seeing the fortress in the distance, its spires peeking over the hills. She trotted to catch up with Damara, a ways in front of the group. 

"I'm starting to see the island in the distance," Crea said softly. "Well, the castle at least. We're making good time."

Damara agreed with a hum. "Dawn is not far. We should make the peninsula by then."

It was true to her word. The sky began to shift into a rich purple, fading slowly to a deep blue. Streaks of orange emerged low in the sky after a time, their wispy fingers stretching up until it encompassed the clouds, reflecting off the water around the island in front of them. Crea sighed at the sight. 

"Funny how good it feels to be back here, huh?" she whispered to Malroth.

He rumbled in agreement, his hair bobbing as he nodded. Ali lay undisturbed against chest, looking as though she hadn't moved all night. She very well may not have. 

"Did you really think I would just let you walk away?"

Malroth stiffened at Zeligon's voice, unintentionally holding Ali tighter. A brief wave of panic set in, knowing he needed to get her to safety. He needed his hammer in his hands.

Everyone froze, a deathly silence taking over the group. Crea held her breath, looking around them to see if he was near. 

Zeligon's laugh encircled them, a bright orb of red light appearing in front of them. He floated off the ground as before, gesturing with his scepter.

"You cannot escape destruction," he ordered. "Stop this foolish journey at once!"

"Try and stop us!" Crea yelled, brandishing her hammer and taking a step forward. Damara wordlessly notched an arrow in her bow. Malroth leaned forward, the urge to fight tingling in his arms against the weight that currently preoccupied them. He grit his teeth. 

"That is the plan," Zeligon muttered gleefully. 

His scepter lit up and the response was instant. Crea ran forward, trying to close the gap. Damara fired an arrow which lodged itself in the sleeve of his robe. Malroth sprinted to Isra, forcefully depositing the disoriented child into Isra's waiting arms.

"Make for the bridge!" he yelled, red eyes glinting dangerously in the morning sun. "Go!"

The Uralir folk needed no second bidding, sprinting as well as they were able to get away from Zeligon. Malroth turned, snatching his hammer from his back and running towards the Shaman with a yell. 

A hot streak of light erupted from the scepter, sending fire at Damara's feet. She jumped aside deftly, firing another arrow when she was steady again. This time she hit the meat of his shoulder, but he didn't make any indication that he had noticed. Instead, his scepter fired again, catching her off guard and knocking her over. 

Crea yelled, coming in swinging. Zeligon dodged as well as he was able, mostly backing out of her range. She kept up the assault, managing to catch a lucky hit on his leg. He grunted as he stumbled, rising up into the air out of her reach. 

Malroth was undeterred. He leapt high into the air, fire forming around the head of his hammer as he brought it down towards the Shaman. Zeligon raised his staff, a magical barrier intercepting the blow and making Malroth bounce off. Malroth landed on his feet, skidding through the dirt before casting a murderous glance at his foe. 

"Ah, I see you recovered! Decided you haven't had enough?" Zeligon sniggered, raising his staff once again. "I can fix that!"

His scepter glowed blue this time, and Malroth growled, the familiar aura of fire encompassing his body. He dashed forward, leaping directly at the Shaman as a blue beam struck him squarely in the chest. A cold enveloped him as he fell back to the ground and he yelled in pain, shivering in violent waves as the chill swept through him.

Zeligon turned his attention to Damara, trying in vain to slow the agile archer. Crea ran to Malroth's side, helping him stand.

"It's no use," Crea panted. "We have to find a way to get him on the ground!"

Malroth shuddered, shaking his limbs to get his blood flowing. "You don't happen to have any of those Air Force traps on you, by chance?"

Crea shook her head, watching Damara hit shot after shot as she danced around him. Her arrows didn't seem to be making much of a difference, though. "Hermit said no bad guys! I didn't plan for this!"

Malroth scoffed, raising his hammer and leaning forward, ready to jump back in. "I'll be sure to tell him off when we get back."

"Malroth, look!"

Arrows peppered the Shaman's robes on all sides, hanging comically in certain places. Malroth swept over the monster, trying to see what she was indicating. He shook his head, about to open his mouth and ask when he realized.

Zeligon had his back to them.

Crea moved in front of him wordlessly, and Malroth grabbed her hips and flung her into the air. With precision sculpted by practice, Crea angled in the air as if in slow motion, her hammer trailing through the air. Malroth leapt after her, arching through the air above her. Synchronized, their hammers fell in line, each throwing their weight behind their swing as they aimed for Zeligon's head.

Inches from impact, a blue light encircled the pair, confusing both. Malroth felt a force grip his stomach as they changed trajectory, angling up over Zeligon's head and then sharply down into Damara. All three collapsed in a heap, Zeligon laughing above them.

"Clever!" he called. "But you'll have to do better than that!"

Crea groaned, untangling her limbs from the others. "We can't touch him," she said under her breath.

"If only we could stop his staff," Malroth grumbled, rolling off of Damara.

Damara rubbed at her head. "My arrows are only distractions. If I can hit his hand, I might have a chance to make the staff miss."

"Worth a shot," Malroth murmured. He stood, pointing at the Shaman before yelling. "You embrace destruction, don't you? Why don't you take the lead?"

Zeligon shook his head. "My destruction comes after my duty has been fulfilled." His staff glowed pink, reflecting the rays of the early sun. "When all life has been wiped from this island!"

Malroth yelled a furious battle cry, leaping again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Damara dash to the side, taking careful aim. Zeligon himself raised his staff, focusing on Malroth's exposed chest.

The staff glowed bright, gathering energy to fire. Damara loosed her shot, the arrow finding its mark in his hand and embedding itself through to the metal in his grip. Zeligon gasped in surprise as it pushed his hand, just enough that Malroth could feel the heat of the spell deflect past his ear. With a grin and a mighty yell, he brought the head of his hammer down against the red crystal.

A sickening noise cracked through the air like an explosion, reminiscent of breaking bones. A bright light burst from the head of the scepter, blinding everyone. Malroth felt a strong magical force hit his entire body, sending him in the air. His arms felt like they'd been shattered from the force, and he instinctively let go of his hammer as he flew through the air. His eyes recovered from blindness enough to see the ground come up to meet him.

He bounced and slid in the ashen dirt, coming to a stop a ways away. He heard Zeligon screech in agony and fury, and Malroth struggled to raise his head and look.

Even at his distance, he could see Zeligon's staff was bent, and the orb on top somehow maintained its shape despite the thick cracks that webbed their way through the entire gem. Zeligon was pointing after him, noticeably fuming despite the mask.

"This is not over!" Zeligon screamed, vanishing in a white glow.

Malroth sighed in relief, setting his head against the ground. It was quickly forgotten when shooting pain brought his attention to how his arms throbbed. He cried out in surprise and agony, tucking his arms close to his chest as he grappled with the pain. He heard fast footfalls, and he rolled onto his side with an audible wince, looking up at Crea's face.

She knelt down next to him, unsure hands hovering over him. "What happened?" she asked, breathless. "Are you okay?"

"My arms," Malroth gasped, the throbbing beginning to pulse through his bones. He grimaced, squeezing his eyes tight as a dry sob escaped his mouth.

He resisted the urge to roll in the dirt, hearing Crea dig through her bag. He felt her fingers at his lips and he forced his mouth open, feeling a wad of medicinal herb press against his tongue. Once Crea's hand retreated, he bit down on the herb in an effort to redirect some pressure to his jaw. He breathed harshly through his nose, the small relief from the herb at least dulling the bladed edge of the throbbing.

Malroth reopened his eyes, looking up at Crea as he continued to nurse the herb under his tongue. She brushed aside some hairs from his forehead, looking away to find Damara, he guessed. "My hammer," he grunted. "I let go in the blast."

The look on Crea's face didn't change as she focused on something outside of his vision. With as much effort as he could muster against the pain in his body, he sat up, following her gaze and seeing Damara walking towards them, her bow at her side.

Malroth felt his blood run cold as he realized what was in her outstretched hand, all thoughts of pain vanishing from his mind when he saw it. His breathing halted in his clenching throat, tears pricking at his eyes.

A handle without a head.

His hammer had shattered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all on the [DQ Builder's Guild](https://discord.gg/5upn4fq) encouraged me to go for extra angst so. This is officially their fault. :)
> 
> also Malroth didn't just break his arms, promise. Y'know that feeling when you hit a baseball with a metal bat? and sometimes your arm just tingles a little bit as you felt it in your bones? take that and multiply it by a hundred and he's feeling that.


	14. Satellite/Stealing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ _You're a half a world away_ ](https://youtu.be/SuO8ATzB_1Q)
> 
> In which Crea hunts for answers.

Crea and Damara held Malroth between them, one of his arms over each of their shoulders. It was quiet as they traversed the peninsula, approaching the inner island. The trees rustled pleasantly in the sea breeze, the leaves waving as they passed by. Crea swallowed with difficulty.

_ You can fix it though, can't you? Or make another? _

Malroth's nervous question haunted her. In theory she could, but the materials she needed were horribly rare. She wasn't even sure how she conjured it in Malhalla, the first time. He could see the answer in her expression and his eyes went vacant, lying back down in the dirt and curling in on himself.

Now he was essentially lifeless between them, walking for the most part but otherwise a shell of himself. She would make him another hammer. Of course she would. 

She had to.

Approaching the castle, townspeople lingered in front of the gate conversing with Garrick. They all turned at once, catching view of Malroth strung between the two of them first and foremost.

Garrick got to them first. "What happened?" he demanded, lifting Malroth's arm from Crea's shoulder and placing it on his own.

"He's alive," Crea said, relenting and stepping back. She watched as Garrick crouched, sweeping Malroth's legs to carry his whole body in his arms. Damara stepped back, falling in step behind him.

"I got _ that _ much," Garrick grunted, walking into the fortress with powerful strides. "But clearly nobody's home, Miss Crea. What happened?" he repeated.

Crea swallowed past the lump in her throat. "His hammer broke."

"Guessin' it's not an easy fix," he said.

"Rare materials," Crea admitted, nodding in agreement. She jogged ahead, pushing the door to their little room open. Garrick ducked inside, mindful of Malroth's head and feet to the door frame. Damara stayed outside. With care, he placed Malroth on the bed, who instantly curled up with a vacant expression.

Garrick rubbed his face, observing the broken boy. "Goddess," he cursed. "What do we do?"

"I'm going to try to make a substitute in the meantime," Crea said, determined. "Maybe if he has a weapon in his hands he'll come back to himself."

"Do you want me to keep an eye on him?" Garrick asked.

"You don't have to," Crea sighed. "Though, I could use your help getting everyone settled in while I try to break him out of this."

Garrick nodded, casting a furtive glance at the bed as he left. Crea knelt down, looking into unseeing eyes.

"Malroth," she whispered gently. "Hey. Malroth? You there?"

He hardly blinked in response.

Crea sighed. She leaned in, kissing his forehead as she rose to her feet. He didn't even flinch.

Leaving her room, Crea stepped back out into the sunlight. Damara still stood at the doorway, observing carefully. 

"What can I do?" she asked, her hands clasped formally in front of herself. 

Crea shrugged, feeling lost. "I… want to try to make him a weapon. I'm hoping that does something."

Damara nodded, stepping aside. "I will keep the others out of your way."

"No." Crea said. "If there's anything wrong that I can fix, I want to know."

"Do you always sacrifice yourself like this?"

Crea blinked. "What?"

Damara smiled softly. "Malroth is mentally unconscious and you don't mind being distracted? You carry so much weight on your shoulders. Too much for as young as you are. You need to prioritize yourself."

"But I can—"

_ "No," _ Damara said firmly. "You are no use to us if broken. Is no use to Malroth either. I promise you, is allowed to say no. We can handle ourselves."

Crea hesitated, turning away to look around. Garrick was standing at the dormitory, talking to the other shy townsfolk about something. 

"We existed this long by our own merit," Damara added. "We can do so here."

"Damara…"

She smiled gently at the young builder.

"Thank you," Crea said. "But I might need you to make sure I eat."

"Consider it done," Damara said.

"I also…"

Damara raised her eyebrow at the silence.

Crea finally looked back up at her with a sigh. "I need to figure out how to improve my hammer. To make it stronger so I can fight Zeligon better."

Damara hummed. "I will learn what I can. Is no trouble. What will you do for Malroth's?"

Crea ran a hand through her hair nervously. "I wish I knew," she murmured. "If I was back on the Isle I would go get more of the orichalcum I need, but… I'm not. I don't know how to get more if I'm here."

"Is troubling," Damara said. 

Crea couldn't stop fidgeting with her hair. She couldn't have Brownbeard take her to the islands, not from here. It would take too long. Zeligon could destroy what was left of the island in the four days it would take to get there and back. 

"We will find something," Damara reassured, putting a hand on the young builder's shoulder. "See if anything else works."

Crea nodded as Damara left her. She chewed her lip as she approached her crafting table, pulling her book from her back to look up her notes on all of his various weapons. She glanced through her doodles, looking from the oaken club to the iron axe and of course, the hammer. Why did she have to make the recipe so complicated?

The oaken club was easy, being just wood. It was funny to her just how simple it was after all this time. After so many weeks and months of honing her skills, crafting thousands of things from the plainest of materials… it almost seemed laughable that Malroth had hung onto his club for so long. Especially after he got more and more "cooler weapons," as he'd put it. She smiled, running her hand along the weapon before placing it in her bag, alongside the others. She'd always collected the others from when she had made him something better and he flung the old one to the side without a thought. She doubted any of them had the same power to bring him back to his senses, but she would certainly try.

Crea stepped back into the house, closing the door softly behind her. Malroth hadn't moved, other than his eyes were now closed. He was snoring softly, barely perceptible breaths catching in his throat. She was relieved that he was sleeping, but also not sure how to proceed now. _ Should I just… put them in his hand? _ Rubbing at the side of her face, Crea approached slowly, kneeling at the side of the bed once more. She couldn't help but admire him, even though she could see the torment inside him from the way his body seemed to collapse on itself. His arms pulled close to his chest, his shoulders curved inwards to minimize the vulnerability to his ribcage, and his knees pulled up into the fetal position. She hadn't realized just how attached he'd gotten to that hammer, though realistically she should have seen it. 

Pulling the oaken club from her bag, she placed it on the bed, trying to angle the handle into his hands. His fingers folded around it, reminding her of the way newborn hands would curl around their parent's finger. He was so small, in this moment. Searching for a lifeline.

But even though he held the handle, he did not stir. It might as well have been a ladle or a tree branch. Crea sighed. _ Try again_.

She cycled through the weapons, stone to iron to steel. Each he clasped, but he did not awaken. Even the hefty gigante club, which had been his favored weapon before the hammer, stirred nothing. In a fit of desperation, Crea pulled her iron sledgehammer from her bag, similar in shape to his previous hammer. She nestled it into his hand.

His eyes fluttered open, and she held her breath. Malroth stared blankly at her for a moment, then angled his head to look down at the sledgehammer. He regarded it for a moment before sighing, closing his eyes and returning to his former position. Crea exhaled, her chest tightening when her hope fizzled. _ Almost. _ She tried to take it back, but he was firm. She left it.

Walking back outside, Crea ran her hand through her hair again, staring up at the clear sky. She could hear everyone settling in, the normal sounds of living in a town starting to grow. She sighed. In a bid for gratitude, she had lost Malroth _ and _ his hammer. She wasn't sure if it was worth it.

Footfalls caught her attention and she brought her head down from the sky, seeing Damara coming towards her. Her heart fell. She'd have to tell her.

"Crea," she greeted. "I have good news."

"Okay," Crea exhaled. "What's up?"

"There is a fellow at the dock who says he knows you," she said. "He said to pass his appreciation for the location. Also that he likes your rowboat."

Crea blinked. "Brownbeard?"

Damara nodded. "He brings the other good news."

"What's that?"

"According to a 'quick float,' as he put it, he spotted Sessan in the desert in the west, on the far side of the bay. Is seeming to be intact."

Crea shook her head. "I don't see how that helps us."

Damara's eyes twinkled. "Do you know what's in Sessan, young builder?"

"Why would I know that?" She flung her hands out, exasperated. 

"Crea," she said gently. "I have learned about the trade that comes from the desert city."

Crea felt a tingle of anticipation run down her spine. She froze, holding her breath. There was something in her voice that gave her hope.

"Sessan," Damara said, a sly smile gracing her features, "is home to a legendary blacksmith."


	15. Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The devil is not the nature that is around us_   
_But the nature that is within us all_
> 
> In which things are split up.  


Air whistled past Crea's ears as she sprinted, running down the path to the docks. Her mind was empty, save her only goal of making it to Sessan as fast as she could. She could picture Malroth in her mind's eye and a fire ignited in her heart, knowing that she could have another hammer for him soon. There was no time to lose.

Sliding around the bend, she was greeted by the sight of Brownbeard's ship. She spurred herself on, running across the grass and thundering across the dock. Brownbeard was standing by his ship, and jumped at the sudden noise, ducking and covering his head with his hands. Crea slowed her pace, letting momentum take over as she jogged to a stop.

"Brownbeard," she panted.

The captain looked up. "Miss Crea!" he said, sounding relieved. "I was afeared you were a monster, thunderin' on like that. Ain't you a sight for sore eyes!"

Crea exhaled heavily, catching her breath. She nodded, giving a halfhearted wave.

"This dock has yore handiwork written all over it. Right perfect! But 'ang on– where's our pal Malroth?"

Crea grit her teeth. "I can tell you on the way," she said, strolling onto the deck. "I need you to take me to Sessan."

Brownbeard jogged after her. "Aye, is that the one I spotted earlier?"

Nodding again, Crea glanced around. "How did you know to come here?" she asked.

"Fancied m'self a bit of a float after you two were gone a few days," Brownbeard explained, tugging at the anchor. "Thought I'd explore the bay for a glimpse of ya and found the dock." 

The boat swayed as it pulled away from the port, wind pressing into the sails. It turned wide, setting towards the west.

"Now tell me, did somethin' 'appen to Malroth?"

Crea frowned. "He's fine," she said, swallowing back the discomfort that burned in her throat. "His hammer broke."

"An' he didn't wanna come cos he didn't have a weapon no more?"

Crea shook her head, glancing out to the water. "It… broke him, somehow. I can only guess at why it upset him so much that he isn't responding to us anymore."

Brownbeard cursed, frowning. "But he _ is _ alive, y'said?"

She nodded. "Just… not responding."

"Amazin'," he said. "Never expected that out of 'im. Always seemed put together better than me own ship!"

Crea stared out at the horizon, mouth pressed shut in a firm line. Why would this happen? Why did he… break? Was it really the hammer at the heart of it, or was there something else? She hoped this blacksmith knew where to find orichalcum. She would do anything. 

* * *

Malroth felt the darkness before he saw it. He sighed. _ This again? _These were always the worst ones, the nightmares where he knew it for what it was. Aware but incapable of changing them. He spun around, looking for Hargon's image in the darkness, waiting for the tell-tale cackle that he was near. 

It was strangely… quiet. 

"Give it up, Hargon," he called, his voice echoing. "We defeated you. This is over."

But the darkness did not respond.

Eyes narrowing, Malroth crept forward, the small scope of his view moving along with him. When he was satisfied he wasn't about to be ambushed, he stood up straight to quicken his pace, trying in vain to see anything around him. The ground was a thick black, muffling his movements except for the rare occasion he'd kick at a pebble, sending it clattering off into the darkness.

Malroth paused. There was something strange about these rocks. 

He bent down, taking one carefully in his hand. It was cool to the touch, and… abnormally sharp? Why was it sharp? His eyebrows furrowed, turning it over in his hand, its grey exterior almost reflective. _ Strange. _

Looking up, he saw more rocks, grouped and spread in such a way that almost made it look like a trail. Suspicion rising in his stomach, he rose to his feet and followed despite his instinct warning him not to. There had to be _ something _ here.

More rocks clumped together, all mostly the same size, until he came across one bigger one. This was the length and size of his finger, jagged on one side but curved and smooth on the other. He turned it over between both hands, puzzled. Smooth? That was extra strange. He rubbed his thumb across the smooth edge, spotting a reflective glint again. Without warning, his stomach dropped out from under him as a thought struck his mind. 

These weren't rocks. 

They were shards. 

These were pieces of his hammer. 

Malroth gripped the shard in his hand, not caring at the jagged edge that cut into his palm. He raced forward, following each speck of debris until the pieces accumulated in a pile, the broken handle sticking up out of the center like a flagpole. He ground his teeth together, suppressing a growl at the sight. 

Why was this here? 

He remembered the fight, the blow that broke it, the pain. He remembered seeing the broken handle without a head. But… then what? And why was he here now? What message was this trying to convey? 

A bright light illuminated over the hammer's resting place, blinding him. Malroth grunted in surprise, holding a hand up to the light as he squinted and instinctively looked away. It burned his retinas against the oppressive darkness behind. 

"Malroth." A voice spoke, clear but shrouded, as though several women of various tones were all speaking in unison. He wasn't sure if he wanted to respond or not. 

"Malroth." The voice spoke again, the brightness pulsing with its voice. He squeezed his eyes shut, though it did little against the bright light. 

"Malroth."

"What?" he snarled, grunting in frustration. "You know my name, I _ got _ it, what do you _ want?" _

The light receded slightly, enough that he could open his eyes again and peek through his outstretched fingers. It seemed to be little more than a ball of light, not even a personage. 

"Why am I here?" Malroth demanded. 

"You are presently trapped within a curse."

"A curse, huh?" he frowned. "Well, you're the all powerful light… ball… thing. Get me out."

"I come merely to inform, not to act."

Malroth growled, clenching his hand at his side into a fist. "What's that supposed to mean? How do I get out of here?"

The light pulsed pleasantly. "When Crea returns with your new hammer, it will be enough to subdue the curse." 

He frowned. He hoped she wouldn't have to go far to get the materials without him. "What do you mean it'll only _ subdue _ it? How do I get rid of it?"

The light did not answer, glimmering silently before him. 

Malroth grumbled before trying again. "Just what is this curse? And who are you, anyway?"

The cacophony of voices echoed through the space. "With his dying breath, Hargon uttered a curse upon you to render you useless. Since he could not destroy you, his goal was to try to destroy the builder by means of incapacitating you. He was aware of the bond you share with her. He hoped to exploit it."

Malroth scowled. _ Damn Hargon. _

"As for me," the light added. "I am Hela."

_ Hela? _ He was certain he'd heard that name before…

"Oh," he breathed. "Crea named my hammer after you."

"And infused it with my essence," she added, voices swelling. "Though she did not realize it at the time. She made a holy weapon, Malroth. Your proximity to it was what kept the curse from functioning properly for so long."

"You make it sound like it's been doing anything up til now," he sneered.

"Your nightmares," Hela said bluntly, her many voices still spread across an echoing spectrum.

Malroth dropped his hand in surprise, finally adjusted to the brightness of the light. _ Oh. _ He shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around it. "But… isn't there any way to get rid of the curse?"

"Not until after Zeligon is destroyed. He impedes The Way."

He grit his teeth. _ Of course. _

"Well what am I supposed to do now?" he grumbled. 

"Rest," Hela said, her voice and light fading away. "The journey ahead will not be easy."

"Hey wait!" Malroth shouted, reaching his hand towards the dimming sphere. He watched his hand disappear from view as the darkness engulfed him again. 

* * *

"Sessan, ahoy!" Brownbeard shouted. 

Crea had her eyes transfixed on the shore, watching as they approached the shambled remains of a previous dock. 

"Yar, Crea?" Brownbeard called. "You alright up there?"

Crea took a deep breath. "Just focused," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "I just lost him once before, you know? I'd… rather not have to do it again."

Brownbeard nodded sagely, steering his boat towards the shore. The dock wasn't actually in any worse conditions than the others they'd been to out on the explorer's shores. It surprised her a little. 

"I'll be waitin' for ya," Brownbeard said, saluting. "Good luck out there."

Crea nodded her thanks before setting out into the sand. The town didn't look terribly far. To the south she could see more plumes of smoke, the burning smell carrying to her faintly on the wind. There was only one other city to check on after this, Laic to the southeast. She wondered if the fires had already gotten there or not.

The desert was surprisingly not terribly hot, just flat and sandy. It made her think of the sands back on the Isle, when the Khrumbul-Dunnians had made her sit back and watch as they constructed a pyramid. Or rather, they had wanted her to watch. True to her nature of never sitting still, she'd preoccupied herself with oasis matters instead. They hadn't minded.

The city was further inland than she realized, but Crea still made the journey in about twenty minutes. In the open space, she mindlessly wondered how long it would take Zeligon to get another staff, and how long after that it would take for him to come and try for revenge. Crea winced. Probably should've left that thought for later.

Approaching the outskirts, she was struck by the haphazard nature of the buildings, cropping up with no rhyme or reason to placement. Heights, materials, and random colors looked to be slapped on as a last minute addition. A small oasis occupied the center of the city, with a fountain in the middle surrounded by leaning palm trees. Children played in the water, oblivious to everything else.

It was nothing like she expected, though admittedly she wasn't sure what she was expecting in the first place.

Crea heard a trumpet's melody float along in the breeze from somewhere as she walked in, and she couldn't help but feel confused. How were things so… carefree? Didn't they know the rest of the island had been destroyed? She forcefully swallowed her bitter feelings, knowing this was in stark contrast to the atmosphere of the fortress when she'd left.

The coolness of the oasis washed over her when she was close enough, sending a light mist to settle in her hair. She breathed deeply, allowing the brief moment to clear her mind. It didn't matter what they did here, she decided. She just needed the blacksmith's help.

"Ay, you lookin' for somethin' miss?"

Crea turned to the voice, spotting a young man in a green tunic walking towards her. His hair was a pleasant dark grey, short and fluffy.

"I'm looking for the blacksmith here," she said.

"Heard about her metalwork, huh?" he hummed, walking and motioning for her to follow. "You wouldn't believe our shock when she figured it out. It's amazin'! She's the best blacksmith in the whole of Aletia, you can be sure of it!"

She smiled, suppressing her impatience. "I can't wait to meet her."

"I'm Slate by the way," he said, raising his arms to put both his hands behind his head with a youthful grin.

"Crea," she returned. "Sorry, I'm… not from around here. What was it that this lady figured out?"

Slate's smiled faltered. "Er… well, I'm only her apprentice, so I don't really know how to explain it… but I do know she made steel stronger!"

"She _ what?" _

"Yeah! She combined it with somethin' else an' made an al… ally… something." He grimaced. "She'll make me work the bellows for a week if she found out I forgot all the words again. You won't tell her, will you?"

Crea laughed. "I can guarantee I will ask enough questions that it won't matter."

Slate smiled, relieved. "I know she went out for some materials this mornin', but she should be back by now. The smithy's the red building over here." He grinned, jogging up and disappearing into the open doorway. 

Crea took a deep breath, looking at all the metal decorations that hung from every available space on the front of the building. It all glittered beautifully, swaying in the breeze. Tearing her eyes away, she exhaled sharply, walking into the darkened doorway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ever play Mario Odyssey? With that mariachi town in the desert? That's the vibe I'm going for with the random colors and sizes. I couldn't get the image out of my head. XD


	16. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Every war you want to win,_   
_There's nothing to defend, nothing to surrender._   
_I don't want to fight alone,_   
_No one does_
> 
> In which Crea meets the blacksmith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I originally named that blacksmith Tetsu, and then I found out the SAME DAY that there's a blacksmith in dq11 named Tetsu. Fwiw, that's the Japanese word for iron. Typical.

The air in the smithy was surprisingly cool, the darkness of the inside of the shop a welcome change from the overwhelming brightness of the desert sun. Crea blinked, trying to adjust her eyes. 

Slate was gone. _ Probably just went to the back to find the blacksmith, _ she mused. It gave her a chance to look around.

An anvil, a furnace, a water trough, some presses… the standard things. Crea had to marvel at the huge numbers of tongs and hammers that lined the back wall. There was a covered forge in the corner, much like the ones she used back on the Isle. This one seemed like it could run much hotter than hers, though. She walked over to it, running her hand across the cool exterior.

"You here for a lesson?"

Crea jumped, turning to see a smug lady standing in the doorway. Her skin was dark, and her braided hair pulled back into a long ponytail.

"Yes and no," Crea said.

"Oh?"

"I'm familiar with your craft, I'm just out of the materials I need to replace uh… one of my tools." Crea hesitated. She wasn't sure how to explain it. "On the other hand, your apprentice was telling me you revolutionized steel, which I'll admit made me curious."

The lady grinned. "You're rather intriguing yourself," she said. "But I'm not one to easily part with my secrets. Tell you what, if you can make me something, I'll see if you're good enough for it. How's that?"

"Sounds fair to me," Crea said. "I'm Crea, by the way."

"Ferrum," she said, moving from the doorway towards the anvil. "Now, what was the stuff you were needing?"

"Orichalcum."

Ferrum laughed. "Seriously? That janky stuff? You know it's no better than copper, right?"

Crea felt her face flush. "Please, it's important for who it's for!"

"Either way, I haven't got any," she said, shrugging with outstretched hands. "Besides, the steel I make is way better. Why don't you make me something? Say… a mountain cleaver?"

Crea glowered, reached around to her bag.

"Oh, you're a guest here! I couldn't ask you to use your own stuff." Ferrum laughed, making Crea freeze. Ferrum opened a chest, pulling out two large rocks. "Here's the ore you need. You'll have to smelt it though."

Crea took the ore, eyeing them and her warily. "You don't want to see one I've already made?"

"It's the process I'm interested in," she said slyly, stepping next to the wall to get out of the way.

Crea had never been nervous about crafting in front of people before, but there was something about the way Ferrum watched her that was unsettling. Still, smelting the ore into bars brought her into a rhythm, and she soon felt back at home in the swing of creation. She sculpted the metal as best she knew how, banging and burning and cooling, the sword slowly taking shape. 

At last, several hours later, Crea deposited the whole sword into the water trough, declaring herself done. She turned back to Ferrum with an exhausted smile. 

"That's it?" Ferrum asked, crossing her arms. 

Her smile faded. "Yes…"

"Good. That was easily the _ worst _ form of metalworking I have ever seen in my entire life."

Crea bristled, the heat of anger flooding her face. _ "Excuse me?" _

Ferrum rolled her eyes, gesturing around the room with one hand as she spoke. "Honestly. Smelting the ore was too rushed, there was no _ way _ you got a perfectly clean ingot out of any of that. And anyway, ingots? Excessive! Just pour it straight into a mold! That's so much extra time, wasted. Forming the edge was alright, but you wanna start closer to the handle for the blade, not the tip! The tip is the sensitive part. I'm honestly impressed it didn't shatter for how hard you were working it." Ferrum turned back to her. "So many hazards. Who taught you?"

Anger and embarrassment shot through Crea's spine. "I'm mostly self-taught."

"Well that explains a lot. No wonder your tools broke."

Crea felt herself snap. "Listen, I know I'm not perfect, but who are you to discredit everything I've done? My best friend is unconscious because he broke something I made, and I'm pretty sure the only way to get him back is to make it again!" Tears flooded her eyes, threatening to fall. "If you're not gonna _ help _ me, at least tell me where I can get what I need so I can do it myself."

Ferrum shrugged, her nose crinkling as her face contorted with disgust. "That doesn't sound like a me problem."

Crea couldn't believe what she was hearing. Hands shaking with anger, she stood rooted to the spot, trying to comprehend or will herself to move. Anything. Helplessly, her vision blurred as the tears spilled onto her cheeks. 

Ferrum smirked. "Tears won't change my mind, sweetie."

"I just…" Crea took a shaky breath, trying to keep her voice even as her heart broke. "I have to help him. I'll do anything."

"Oh, that's a dangerous game," Ferrum said, her smirk still plastered on her face. "Shame I'm not taking on anymore students."

Screaming from outside caught their attention, causing both of them to turn to the open doorway as Slate slid into the room.

"Boss!" he said, out of breath. "The Shaman is here!"

Crea's heart sunk deeper in her chest.

Ferrum's expression changed instantly, her eyes sparkling with fire as a solemn expression overtook her. She moved to grab something underneath her worktable. "What's he want this time?"

"He just keeps screaming, asking 'where we're hiding them.' I don't know what he's talking about."

Ferrum pulled out a massive mallet of her own, a huge and phenomenally silver thing, with two large diamonds on either side. Crea thought it looked gaudy.

"You stay here," Ferrum said, pointing at Slate. "And make sure _ she–"_ she pointed at Crea, "–doesn't go anywhere." She moved swiftly, skirting around the edge of her workbench and out into the desert sun. 

Crea released her breath when she left, wiping at her face. "Charmer," she spat. Slate said nothing, too concerned with watching out the door. Crea sighed, joining him at the doorway to watch. 

Ferrum made powerful strides towards the waiting Zeligon, who hovered by the water. His staff was still slightly bent, but the crystal had been replaced. 

"Zeligon!" Ferrum shouted, her voice echoing off the buildings. "You are not welcome here!"

"I'm not here for _ you,_ useless woman!" he yelled back. "Give me the builder and her companion! I know you're hiding them here."

Crea felt her stomach drop out from under her. There was no way this woman would protect her. 

"You've lost your marbles, Shaman," Ferrum smirked, opening her arms wide. "There's no builder here. Just me! And you've been trying for years to knock me down."

Crea saw hesitation in the Shaman's movements. 

"You lie," he growled, pointing. "Give her to me and I will leave your pathetic town alone."

"Hey kettle, you're black," she jeered. "You couldn't leave us alone if you wanted to." Ferrum stopped walking, though she was still a good ten yards from where he hovered. 

"Give her to me!" Zeligon raised his staff in warning. 

"You know how this ends," Ferrum called. "Just accept defeat and go."

Crea's eyebrows furrowed together. She was so far! How did she expect to force him back? Or was it just bravado? 

Zeligon let a lightning bolt loose from his staff, the blue light arching angrily through the air. Ferrum swung at it with her hammer, as though hitting a baseball. To Crea's bewilderment, a semitransparent shield appeared in the air around Ferrum, causing the lightning to bounce off. The lightning then arched back through the air, hitting Zeligon. Crea felt her mouth drop open.

"You can't honestly forget about that every time, can you?" Ferrum yelled.

Zeligon scowled. "You cannot hide forever, builder!" he yelled. A flash of white light, and he was gone. 

Crea released her breath, unaware she had been holding it. That was…

She needed it. No wonder the town was so carefree, having a protection like_ that. _

Ferrum turned, walking back towards her shop, and Crea felt reluctance creep into her mind. She needed that power. But could she put up with this woman enough to learn it? 

Ferrum came back inside, Crea and Slate both shying away from the doorway. Ferrum raised an eyebrow as she looked Crea over, her expression deadpan and calculating. 

"Please teach me," Crea whispered. 

"No."

"Please," she begged. She didn't have the will or the energy to plead her case. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt pathetic. She figured that was Malroth's influence, taking rather than asking in cases like these. 

Ferrum shook her head. "No. I'm coming with you."

Crea felt her throat tighten. "What?" she squeaked. 

"This city will be fine. I fortified it myself, after all." Ferrum had a smug look on her face. "If you made enemies of Zeligon, you're gonna need the help. Especially if all your building is like that sword of yours. But I have to ask: what the fresh hell did you do to piss him off?"

Crea sighed, the memory flashing through her mind alongside Malroth's vacant expression. "My friend," she murmured. "He broke the Shaman's staff with his hammer. My hammer. Both broke and he…" she trailed off.

"Won't wake up?" Ferrum guessed. "I'd expect as much, if he was that close to the crystal when it blew up."

Crea nodded.

"You really think we can handle ourselves, boss?" Slate asked.

"Listen," Ferrum said, turning to her apprentice. "You saw how mad he was. Zeligon is probably gonna gun for her for as long as she's here. I'd be surprised if he came back after we leave. But even if he does, you've got your hammer and you know how to make more. You don't know all the words, sure, but you know _ how." _ She grinned. "I taught you, after all."

Slate nodded with a small smile. "Thanks boss."

She waved her hand, shooing his thanks away. "Don't thank me til we kill him. If he comes back here, we failed and you're on your own." Ferrum strode with purpose back out the door. "C'mon, sweetie! We can talk technique on the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! is she what you expected? ;)


	17. Save Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _... and I'll save you_
> 
> In which there's a lot of crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance. This one hurt me to write. lol

The waters in the bay were calm, and Crea and Ferrum had talked the whole way back. Crea had explained their situation in light detail, while Ferrum went over smithing protocol in explicit terms. Crea was annoyed, but tried her best to swallow her pride. She had to do this for Malroth.

They landed on the island, and Crea thanked Brownbeard before embarking up the path with Ferrum. She was still wary, but she felt better about their chances with the blacksmith here. As they approached the main gate, Crea saw Damara come out to greet them in the fading afternoon light.

"Is back sooner than I expected," Damara said, smiling gently at Crea. "I had thought a few days rather than a number of hours."

Crea smiled, relieved in her presence. She was only now beginning to realize how tired she was. 

Damara turned to Ferrum. "And are you our legendary blacksmith?"

"Legendary? Oh I like that. I'll have to remember that one." Ferrum grinned.

"I am pleased you decided to join us, though it has been lackluster around here without Malroth."

Ferrum waved her hand. "Well, once Crea learns how to smith properly, he'll just be so impressed that he'll have to wake up."

Damara spotted Crea's defeated look. "I see," she said. 

"Well, I've gotta go set up shop somewhere nice. See you, lady," Ferrum said, marching past them and into the courtyard. 

Damara watched her go before turning to Crea. "Is alright?"

Wordlessly, Crea leaned into her, grasping her in a hug. Damara blinked in surprise before wrapping her arms around her in return. 

"Goddess," Crea breathed. "That was so hard."

"I am so sorry," she said, rubbing at tight shoulders. 

"She made it sound like I haven't been doing anything right with my building ever," Crea said, feeling her emotions draining into numbness. "And that… and that it was my fault Malroth's hammer broke, because I made it badly."

Damara made a disapproving noise. "And you believe her?"

Crea sniffed. "A little."

Damara sighed quietly. "I believe you are tired," she said, leaning back to look at her face. "You didn't sleep before you left. You've been awake for two days straight."

Crea stared blankly. She hadn't taken the time to even think about it. 

"Criticism is worse when you don't have the emotional capacity to handle it. Worse still when your best friend is on the line on top of it all." Damara smiled sadly. "You must rest. Take all the time you need. I will deal with your… mentor." Her last word was clipped, and it made Crea feel lighter, like a stone had been lifted from her back. 

"Thank you," Crea whispered. "I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"And you'd deserve it," Damara said, pressing a hand to Crea's back to lead her inside. They walked in through the main gate, and Crea noticed Ferrum already deep in an argument with Isra. She heard Damara sigh.

"Rest well," Damara said, already walking towards the altercation. Crea nodded at her retreating back, silently ducking inside her room. 

* * *

In the darkness, Malroth lay on the ground, waking suddenly from something. He sat up, looking around.

There wasn't anything to do here, and he was so _ bored._ He'd been spending a lot of time sleeping, but in the times he couldn't even do that, he'd consigned himself to collecting all the shards of his hammer, in a bored effort to put it together like a massive jigsaw puzzle.

Now, though. Something had caught his attention.

He looked around, sensing something. It illuminated to his left, again hovering near where Hela had manifested herself before. This time it was a golden ring, spinning with a transparent shine in the center. He scrambled to his feet, hurriedly moving to it. When he was within arms length, it was like a window had opened, and he was staring through a pane of glass into the outside world.

And he saw her.

"Crea!" he said, pressing his hands against glass. He could see her standing with her back against the door, rubbing her eyes in frustration as she kicked off her shoes. He saw her look at his body, limp and unmoving, like a breathing corpse.

Her shoulders drooped.

"Crea!" he yelled, banging a fist on the glass. He knew she wouldn't hear him, but he couldn't help but try.

Crea moved silently, peeling away her outfit until she was left in her underclothes. She didn't even bother washing her face before climbing into bed behind him, snuggling up against his body and draping her arm over his torso. He felt his skin get warm, as though her presence was… actually touching him, somehow. He put a hand over where her arm would be.

Malroth could tell something was wrong. She hadn't worn a face like that since Moonbrooke, when the toll of the war and his imprisonment had settled on her shoulders so heavily he thought she might crumble. He yearned with his whole being to touch her, to hold her face and kiss her, to take her in his arms and tell her that it was going to be okay, even if he didn't know it himself. He let his forehead rest against the glass, getting as close to her as he could.

"Crea," he whispered. "I don't know what's happening, but I know you're gonna be fine. _ We're _ gonna be fine. You can do it. I see the frustration in you and I wish I could take it from you," he choked. "I wish I could tell you. I wish I could do it for you. I wish I could…"

He paused. A warm feeling flooded in his chest.

"I'm sorry for bringing you here," he whispered. "You did all this for me and I can't help you when you need me most."

She nestled against his hair, hiding her face in it. "I wish you were here," she whispered, almost inaudible. "I miss you. I need you."

Malroth banged both fists against the glass, tears starting to stream down his face that he wouldn't notice until later. "Crea!" he yelled. "I'm here! I love you!" He sobbed, hitting his fists against the glass again and again. He wanted so desperately to reach her. She was struggling and he couldn't help. He hated feeling so restless, and so trapped.

His body twitched slightly, giving an extra little snore. Malroth froze, watching carefully. He saw Crea smile sadly in the sea of his hair before leaning forward to put her forehead against his shoulder. He felt it on his back.

"Please don't leave me," she whispered.

Fury welled up in Malroth's throat and he screamed in anguish, pulling his fist back before unleashing it against the glass. Or rather, through it. The image disappeared as pieces of glass rained around his feet. He could see his hand, blood running down his knuckles, his arm through up to his elbow. His shoulders heaved as he struggled with great gasping breaths while pulling his arm free, not caring if he cut it further. A sob escaped his lips and he fell to his knees among the shards of broken glass, the golden ring disappearing when it left his touch.

"Let me help her," he said. He squeezed his eyes shut as he cried into the darkness. "Let me help her!"

He hated feeling so helpless. 

Malroth stayed on the ground, gasping and shaking, focusing on her touches until they finally faded away.


	18. Alchemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was alchemy_   
_To sing to me your freedom song_   
_To make love where there was none_
> 
> In which Crea does some learning.

Crea slept for a whole day, fading in and out of consciousness against Malroth's back. The times she would emerge, she would open her eyes slowly and rub at his side where her arm lay, before remembering a moment later about the situation. Sadness panged at her heart and she would force herself to sleep again, unconsciously hoping against all hope that he would be okay the next time she opened her eyes.

Eventually she just couldn't sleep anymore and she dragged herself up out of bed in the early hours of the morning, well before dawn. She mindlessly went through her typical routine, showering and dressing before heading outside. She breathed deeply, the chilly morning air biting at her lungs. 

But she knew she needed to keep her mind busy. Crea didn't want to think about how much time it might take to build Malroth's hammer again. Or if it would even help, in the end. 

Crea made her way to the field. It seemed like Garrick had been taking good care of everything, but it was still apparent that he hadn't been a farmer Before. Borrowing a hoe from where it leaned against the fence, she made her way up and down the rows, shoring up the mounds of dirt by each plant and stabbing each weed she saw. It wasn't the most captivating of tasks, but it was something she knew she could do. And quietly, at that. What wasn't quiet, as she picked up on twenty minutes later, were the voices that carried from further inside the fortress. Crea frowned, wordlessly placing the hoe back against the fence and heading towards the noise. 

It wasn't long until she started hearing words and small phrases, picking out some small semblance of what was going on. She crept forward, spotting Damara and Ferrum arguing outside the smithy. Crea hid around the corner, making herself as small as possible. 

"You can't demand she come," Damara was saying. "She's had a stressful few days and needs the rest."

"So she's not really into saving her friend then?" Ferrum snapped, her arms folded across her chest. "She's wasting time. Does this boy even exist?"

"Of course he does. Malroth is a brilliant fighter and a good friend. Young. Violent. But a good heart."

"I don't need his life story," Ferrum spat. "All that matters is that she needs to hurry up and get to work with me so she can build stuff properly."

Damara eyed her, an unimpressed look in her own eyes. "Is more to building than metal."

"Not anything worth keeping."

"Not all things are worth being kept."

"You sound like a fortune cookie," Ferrum grumbled. "Now listen. You better convince Crea to come learn tomorrow. She needs teaching."

"I would be more inclined to do that, were you actually helping her," Damara said. "And not beating her self-esteem into the ground."

Ferrum laughed. "She's only _ self-taught. _ What do you expect? She's probably had the continual adoration of some country bumpkins that don't know any better."

Damara pursed her lips. "Teachers are meant to guide, not to mold into what they choose."

"Maybe in your profession," Ferrum replied. "Which is what, by the way? A cryptic?"

"Do you enjoy insulting others or is it a coping method for your feelings of inadequacy?"

"Inade–?" Ferrum scowled, her hands balling into fists. "How dare you!"

Damara's eyes alighted with a hard fire. "You may insult and belittle me as much as you feel necessary, but you _ will _ leave Crea alone. I will not tolerate such abuse to her."

"Who are you to be so demanding?" Ferrum challenged. "As far as I'm concerned, you're not in a position to be making deman—"

With phenomenal speed and precision, Damara suddenly grabbed Ferrum's head between both of her hands. Ferrum shrieked in surprise, her eyes squeezing shut and her arms flinching in panic. Damara leaned in close with a dangerous look in her eyes, whispering something that Crea couldn't hear. Whatever she said had a resounding effect on the blacksmith, whose eyes widened in fear and face paled beyond normal terror. Damara released her and Ferrum fell back with another shriek, landing the ground and staring up at Damara with wide eyes.

Damara smiled coolly, as though nothing strange had just happened. "It seems we are at an understanding," she said cheerfully. 

Ferrum stared for a moment longer, her expression of shock morphing into one of hard anger. "Demon," she scowled.

"Glad we're in agreeance," Damara said, nonchalantly sweeping away with her normal, regal posture. Nothing like whatever she just displayed a moment before. Crea pulled away from her hiding spot, standing in the middle of the walkway in an effort to seem like she was out for a stroll. She took a deep breath before moving forward, heading around the corner into Damara.

"Crea," Damara smiled. "You seem well. Is rested enough?"

Crea nodded, the shocking situation from moments ago still playing in her mind. "I think so. I can't sleep anymore."

Damara nodded. "Ferrum has been asking about you. I think she is eager to begin; as are you, I imagine." She leaned in close, dropping her voice to just above a whisper. "I believe I have put her in her place. If she threatens you, find me and I will do so again." Her eyes sparkled as she returned upright.

Crea forced a smile. "Thank you. I still hardly know you and you're doing so much for me."

Damara laughed. "I suppose I am a bit of a mother hen, aren't I? Don't worry. There will be time enough to get to know each other after Malroth awakens." She patted Crea's shoulder, passing her and moving away.

Crea took a deep breath before approaching Ferrum, who was dusting off her clothes after standing up. Before Crea could say anything, Ferrum saw her and her face darkened. 

"Do you know anything about that woman?" Ferrum hissed. "She's insane! And _ you're _insane for letting her stay here!"

Crea raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Damara!" she whispered urgently. "She's… she's…!" Her voice cut out and she patted at her throat, coughing. 

Crea shifted her weight uncomfortably between her feet. "Look, can we just get to the forging part? You haven't cared much about me up to this point. Bit weird you're starting now."

Ferrum glowered, visibly biting back a retort. "Fine," she spat. "But you better learn quick cos I'm only doing this once."

* * *

True to her word, Ferrum did only explain everything one time. But to her credit, she did so in _ excruciating _detail. Crea was determined to learn though, and soaked it all up like a sponge. She had most of it right already anyway, despite Ferrum's protests to the contrary. But progress was steadily made, and with little snark. No praise, but Crea didn't mind about that. Eventually Ferrum grew tired and left to find dinner, instructing Crea that she should "come back tomorrow" or "practice all night" if she'd rather. 

Crea opted for both. She smelted loads of ore, mindful of Ferrum's careful instructions. Some of the liquid metal she let cast into ingots for later, others she let cool in small molds for swords. Once cooled enough that she could solidly move them, she transferred them to the anvil, working the metal in the way she'd seen. It felt better to do it this new way, despite the condescending way Ferrum had criticized her efforts the last time she tried. But Crea was determined– if she had to put all her building aside to learn that new hammer secret, she would. 

It was around midnight when she finally finished enough that she could go to bed. Crea slunk around her room quietly as if she could wake Malroth. She knew it was unlikely at this point, but she couldn't help it. Old habits.

Sleep was surprisingly comforting, now that she was moving ever closer to her goal. Crea still had to wonder though, what Damara had whispered to temper the blacksmith's… well, temperament. A secret? A threat? Blackmail of some kind? She could only guess. 

In the morning, she came in to find Ferrum examining her handiwork of the handful of swords she had left to cool. Ferrum looked at her, pursing her lips with an indignant expression. 

"Are they acceptable?" Crea asked.

Ferrum put the sword down as though she'd seen a spider run up the hilt. "Well enough," she snorted. "It's not my _ typical _ level of passable, but y'know. Extenuating circumstances, I'm told."

Crea's eyes glimmered.

"It's good you made some extra steel," she continued, motioning to the ingots in question. "We need them for the alloy."

"Alloy?" Crea echoed.

"Yes, _ alloy. _ It means it's a combination metal. Just like steel is an alloy of iron and…" She waved her hand, dismissing herself. "Other stuff. What we're going to do _ now _ is combine steel with more stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Crea asked carefully.

Ferrum smiled, and for once it was a clever smile rather than a smug one. "Wolfram, otherwise known as tungsten."

Crea blinked. "Wha—"

"Wolframite ore!" Ferrum exclaimed, producing several chunks of said ore from the workbench behind herself. "It's plentiful on this island, though admittedly you have to dig a bit to find it."

Crea took an ore chunk in her hands, surprised that it was lighter than she anticipated. "What makes tungsten special?"

Ferrum rolled her eyes. "Aside from the fact it's amazingly strong when combined with steel, it's particularly resistant to extreme heat," she said. 

"Such as… magic?" Crea guessed.

"Ooh, you go to school with that brain? Yes, like magic."

Crea sighed. It was only for a little while more. She could handle just a little longer… 

"Alright. I'm guessing you wanna start with your boy toy's hammer first?"

Crea flushed. "He's not—!"

"Whatever," Ferrum said, moving to the furnace. "Here. I'll show you how to do the combination process. It's about to get rather hot though, so don't say I didn't warn you."

Crea watched in fascination as Ferrum taught her the process, melting both steel and tungsten and letting them mix in a special way to keep them from separating. It did get hot, just as she'd said, but Crea did her best to ignore it. She was focused. Ferrum produced a mold for the hammer's head, and another one for the handle. As they poured, Crea couldn't help but start to feel excited. They were getting so close. At the same time, apprehension lingered in the back of her mind, flitting across her mind's in various stages of _ what if it doesn't work? _She bit them back as best she could. 

"Alright," Ferrum said. "While that's going, you need to pick yourself some gemstones."

"What for?" Crea asked, reaching for her pouch. 

"Ugh, honestly. It's to help redirect the magic if it gets hit."

Crea pulled out a few options, from zenithium to rubies to diamonds. "Is there a difference with what gemstones to use?"

Ferrum shrugged. "Dunno. Doubt it. I used diamonds since they're the strongest. And fanciest."

_Show_ _off,_ Crea thought. She carefully selected two rubies. They made her think of Malroth's eyes. She wished he could've chosen them himself.

"Great," Ferrum said dryly. "Now we've gotta get those in before the metal cools all the way so they're properly stuck in there."

Ferrum again took the lead, peeling back the mold from the head. Crea was glad it looked similar in shape to his last one. She hoped she could make her own mold for hers, she liked the shape of her warhammer. They shaped and placed the gems, returning the head into the basin for it to cool. Crea worked on the handle before the head was finished, generally shaping the shaft for easy attachment. 

Ferrum pulled the head out several hours later in the late afternoon, frowning at it. 

"What's wrong?" Crea asked, her heart freezing in her chest. 

"How is it this black?" she demanded, brushing at it. It was black, but there was a copper sheen to it when the light caught it a certain way. "It's not supposed to do that! What did you add to it?"

Crea recoiled. "You hardly let me touch it! What do you mean you think I _ added _ something?"

Ferrum huffed. "The rubies must've been a bad choice," she decided, setting it none too gently on the counter. "But here it is. Weld it if you want."

Crea did, screwing the handle in place and securing it with a weld. She picked it up carefully, admiring the way it felt in her hands. She would be jealous if she weren't about to make one for herself. Breathing gently, Crea offered up a silent prayer of thanks to Hela. It was something she had seen the smithys in Cantlin do, a long time ago. It felt appropriate now.

"If you're done admiring, can we get started on the other one?" Ferrum complained. "While we still have daylight!"

Crea nodded, hiding the hammer in her bag, but her hand lingered for a moment on the handle. There was something… _ different _ in the air. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. 

Something loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you could probably guess from the end of this chapter, fluff is coming! hooray!


	19. Peace of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It will be only a matter of time_   
_Before your life comes through for you_
> 
> In which Malroth awakens.

Malroth awoke with a gasp, his body jolting in the bed. He caught his breath, looking around. He was in bed, back in their room, on the island.

And he was awake again.

He was up and bounding out of the door before he could register anything else.

"Crea!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating around the fortress like an earthquake. He bolted off towards the rest of the buildings, not waiting for a reply.

"Crea!" he roared again. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears. His eyes swept over every inch of the place as he went by, darting over doorways and people as they flattened themselves to the wall as he sprinted past them. He saw Damara in front of him, her arm outstretched and pointing.

Malroth slid around the corner in the indicated direction, running as fast as his legs would carry him. "Crea!" he shouted again, desperation creeping in his voice. He needed to hold her— No. She needed _ him_.

"Malroth!"

He heard her voice and turned his head, seeing her run out of a nearby building. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her hopeful eyes. He ran for it, and she did too, relief painted across her face in wide strokes. Malroth extended his arms at the last moment to embrace her before they crashed together, spinning with momentum. Malroth clutched her tightly, encircling her in his grasp. She held him equally tight, her hands gathering fistfuls of his shirt as she breathed heavily into his shoulder. She buried her face, squeezing his body tightly. Malroth held her wordlessly, letting her melt and tremble in his embrace. He could feel her tension beginning to ease in her shoulders, and he felt her tears through his shirt. He nuzzled the side of her head.

"Crea!"

He felt her stiffen at the blacksmith's voice.

"How dare you!" Ferrum yelled. "Get back in here, we need to—"

"Shut your _ fucking _mouth or I'll do it for you," Malroth snarled instinctively, his red eyes burning with fire and locking onto the blacksmith as she came out through the doorway. Ferrum froze, startled by the ferocity of his expression. She opened her mouth to argue, but Malroth held his ground, communicating every threat he could by the look of his face alone. Ferrum frowned, but closed her mouth and looked away.

He didn't understand why Crea had gotten so tense from this woman, but he knew enough to put his foot down. He kept his eyes on Ferrum. "Don't even think about having her back today. Right now she's _ mine, _ and if you so much as lay a finger on her I _ will _ cut off your hands," he growled. "Am I clear?"

Ferrum pursed her lips, turning with a huff and disappearing back inside. He had won. As he should.

Malroth felt a light hand on his shoulder and he flinched, turning his head. Damara stood at his side, smiling gently. "You should take her home," she suggested. "Is a lot to talk about, yes?"

He nodded his thanks, leaning his torso back to catch a glimpse of Crea's face. "Hey," he whispered. "What do you say we get out of here?"

She shook her head, reluctant to part. "Please don't make me let go," she whispered. "Goddess, I've missed you, Malroth, I can't even begin to explain—"

"Then don't," he said. "Let me do the heavy lifting for a little while."

He leaned back further and she inhaled sharply, upset he was pulling away.

"Crea," he whispered. "Let me do this."

She looked up into his eyes, searching his expression. She knew everything she would find, and he smiled softly, in that way that he _ only _ did for her. Crea nodded, closing her eyes and relinquishing her death grip around his waist. Malroth leaned down, scooping her into his arms and jogging back to the house with her arms wrapped snugly around his neck. He was grateful there was no one on the street.

After closing the door to their little room with his foot, he placed her back on her feet. She was back on him instantly, pushing his body against the wall and leaning against him, burying her head back against his shoulder. She clung to him as though she were afraid he would disappear. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his nose against the top of her head. 

"Hey," he mumbled.

She didn't respond right away, but after a few seconds she started to shake. Confused, Malroth raised his head, craning to see the rest of her. 

"Crea?" he said. "Crea, what's happening?"

Her head rose, looking up into his face. Her eyes were already pink and overflowing with tears, her lips swollen from trying to suppress her emotions.

"Malroth," she sobbed. "Oh Goddess, Malroth. _ Malroth." _

"I'm here," he readily assured, raising a hand to the back of her head and guiding it back to his chest. "You're okay."

A wail escaped her, and she was soon fully sobbing. Malroth merely held her, rocking her slightly, acting as her lighthouse in the storm. He kept his feelings to himself for now, his heart overflowing with gratitude that he was even _ alive. _ That he could hold her in his arms, that he could comfort her, that he could _ do _ anything– it was a relief. His own eyes teared up as he listened to her, conflicted emotions of gratitude and sympathetic sadness taking over his heart.

"Crea," he whispered. 

She cried harder.

He let her cry, intermittently offering quiet comfort to remind her that he was fine. Whispers and murmurs in her ear that he loved her, that she had worked so hard, that he was infinitely proud of her. In all of that, he was reminding himself, too.

The worst of it had passed. 

Crea's cries slowed until she was left gulping quietly for air. She pulled her head back, and the cold air that rushed between them informed him just how much she'd left behind on his chest.

"Awesome," he deadpanned, looking down at his chest. "I know I need to bathe, but damn."

Crea laughed softly, a short noise that acknowledged him but wouldn't extend beyond the length of her present emotions. "I thought you'd never wake up," she whispered. "I was so afraid that… that…" She trailed off, but he knew what she'd been trying to say.

_ I was so afraid that you'd die. _

"Crea," he murmured, placing a hand on her wet cheek. "I could see you sometimes, where I was. I was so angry at how helpless and powerless I was to help you. But I always believed in you."

"You could see me?" she echoed. "How?"

Malroth took a deep breath. His explanation could easily make this all worse again. "I… there was a ring that showed up sometimes. A golden one that functioned like a window. And I could_ feel _ you," he said. "Just like you can feel me now. Your warmth on my back when you slept. Your arm over my side."

Crea looked at him with big, pink eyes. "Where were you?" she whispered. 

Malroth sighed, internally cringing. "I… found out there's a curse in me. One laid by Hargon when he was dying."

"What?" Crea demanded. "How do you know that?"

"It's a bit of a long story," Malroth said, rubbing his bare neck with his hand. Hela was a bit of a stretch, even for him. "But that hammer you made for me was holy somehow, and enough to keep the curse at bay, except for the nightmares that slipped through sometimes."

Crea searched his face carefully. "And that's why...?"

"When my hammer broke, there was nothing to stop it," he affirmed. "I was stuck in the curse since then."

Crea exhaled. "I wouldn't have let you do that thing with Zeligon's staff if I'd known," she said.

"We wouldn't have done a lot of things if we'd known," he countered. "You probably would've never let me leave the Isle in the first place."

"Probably not," Crea agreed, nodding. "Did you find out anything about getting rid of it?"

Malroth sighed. "Just that Zeligon's in the way."

Crea's face fell, and he hurried to change the subject. 

"Crea," he said, drawing her attention. "We can worry about that later. For now, I just need you to be here with me. Can we do that?"

She nodded, looking down. "I… should probably clean this up."

_ "Please _ just let me shower. I feel disgusting. And normally I don't mind that sort of thing."

Crea smiled, silently laughing. "Except you _ do _ mind this sort of thing, because it was the first thing you did after getting back from Malhalla, too." She stepped back, letting him start to shed his clothing as he walked to the bathroom. 

"...Alright, my track record isn't that great. Fine. Can you blame me? The water is always so warm!" He grinned, disappearing into the bathroom as the rest of his clothes found the floor. He peeked his head back out a moment later. "I expect you in here in a second," he added.

Crea laughed a real laugh, her voice lighting the space that made Malroth's heart feel like it was going to explode. "Sure thing, boss," she said.

Malroth smirked, ducking back into the bathroom without waiting for her.


	20. On a Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Never seen the sun shine brighter_   
_And it feels like me_   
_On a good day_
> 
> In which things get fluffy.

Malroth had never been more thankful for a shower in his whole life. Getting clean was an added relief.

It was some time later that they emerged from the bathroom, both bundled in soft towels. Malroth rubbed his hair through the towel in an effort to help it dry faster. He sat on the bed, relaxed and satisfied. Crea followed a moment later, her head towel wrapped tight and out of her face. She fell on the bed next to him, smiling up at him.

"Don't get too comfortable," Malroth chuckled. "This hair won't brush itself."

Crea grumbled playfully, huffing as she sat up. She held out her hand expectantly, and he dropped a brush into her hand. She grinned, moving back behind him and out of his view.

"Do you ever want to cut it off?" she asked, gently pulling the towel off his head and out of his hands.

Malroth shrugged. "Not really. Sometimes I don't like the wet feeling on my back. But it usually isn't too bad."

Crea tugged at his hair, starting at the ends and slowly working her way up. "It's just so thick. I'd have thought it makes you really warm."

"Why do you think it's always pulled back?" he smirked.

She hummed. Malroth closed his eyes as he felt her hands run through his hair, occasionally grazing his neck with her fingertips. It still made him shiver. There was something about the gentle pull that relaxed him, silencing his mind and drawing his entire focus to the sensations across his body. Goosebumps erupted on his arms as Crea purposefully ran her fingernails along the base of his scalp and up into his hair. Malroth raised his shoulders, lifting his head up and back into her hands, enjoying the feeling.

Crea giggled behind him. "Like a cat," she murmured. He was too captivated in the moment to respond. 

The brush gently scraped the top of his head, pulling all the way down to the ends of his hair. He sighed instinctively, his shoulders dropping back to normal. He felt Crea's fingers fluff through the twin cowlicks at the front of his hairline, encouraging his hair to rise into his typical look. Her hands dropped to embrace him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. Malroth smiled, placing his hands atop hers.

"Thanks," he mumbled, still dazed.

Savoring the closeness, they stayed together like that for a long moment, the sound of their breathing the only thing they could hear. Malroth slowly blinked his eyes open, seeing the darkness settling outside. He was sure Crea was exhausted. 

Reluctantly, Malroth adjusted on the bed, forcing her hands to fall from his abdomen as he turned to look at her. Crea smiled softly, leaning against his shoulder.

"You're really something, you know?" Malroth murmured before he could stop himself. 

Crea's smile reached her eyes, soft dimples forming in her cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno, you're just…" He paused. "Good, and pretty, and just all around amazing."

Crea's eyebrow went up. "You're not usually one to be so sentimental," she observed. "Talk is easy. That's what you've said. Showing it should be enough, and whatever."

"I know," he said. "But I was just thinking about being stuck in my own head, y'know? How different things would be if… if you'd had something to hold on to."

"Malroth…"

His fingers pulled at each other in his lap, fidgeting mindlessly. "I just wished so badly there was something I could do to help you when I couldn't do anything else. Even just talk."

Crea sighed, though it was a contented one. "We've talked about this. Remember? I don't need you to _ do _ anything."

"I remember," he said. "But I couldn't give you companionship when I was stuck in my head!"

Crea paused. "I suppose not."

"I just…" Malroth pursed his lips, hesitant. "I think I want to… make you something. To remind you if I can't be there sometimes."

Crea hummed. "Gutsy."

Malroth blushed, embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. "You're right, it's stupid," he muttered. "Forget I said anything."

"Now hold on." Crea sat up. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," Malroth grumbled, turning his face away. 

"Would you stop that?" Crea said, running a hand across his bare back. "I said _ gutsy,_ not _ stupid._ Not the same. Did you have something in mind or do you want me to help?"

Malroth fidgeted some more, not answering. 

"Hey," she said, putting a hand on his waist. "I promise, I don't think it's dumb."

"Why gutsy then?" he asked quietly. 

"Because I know you don't like the designing part of the process," she said gently, running her other hand up his spine. "As far as I can tell, you like putting the stuff together, provided it's not intricate. That's not as difficult for you."

Malroth shifted slightly, goosebumps trailing along his back at her touch. He shivered. "But then there's the question," he said sadly. "What do you make for someone who can build _everything?_ Is there anything you even need?"

"Need? Probably not," Crea agreed. "But I have some ideas for what I'd like."

"Oh?" Malroth said, turning to look at her fully again.

Crea smiled, taking his hand in hers. "There's this thing I saw in Cantlin once. From a traveler that came through when I was a kid. He had all of these trinkets and jewelry and stuff. There was one thing that he showed me that I really liked." She kept her eyes down, trained on their intertwined fingers.

Malroth watched her face carefully, noting the wistful look on her face as she recalled the memory. It was a smile of nostalgia, he decided. One he wasn't sure he liked. It made her happy, he was pretty sure? But it wounded him a little. To see her yearn for something he couldn't give her back.

"He called it a locket," Crea continued. "It was a necklace, but the pendant part could open and you could put tiny keepsakes inside. Or a picture. Whichever."

Malroth chewed at his lip. "Sounds complicated," he said quietly.

"Probably only because you'd have to put up with Ferrum if you were gonna make it," Crea smirked. "She's not an easy lady."

"Yeah, so what's the deal with that?" Malroth wondered aloud. "Do I need to beat her up for you?"

Crea's smile faded. "I don't think so. Not anymore. Damara may have beaten you to that punch, actually."

Malroth let his head tilt to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I heard them arguing one night so I went to eavesdrop. Ferrum was being all demanding and Damara… grabbed her face with this scary look in her eyes and leaned in to whisper something." Crea shuddered. "It was kinda creepy. I have no idea what she said, but it freaked Ferrum right the hell out."

"And it made Ferrum behave?" 

Crea nodded. "Mostly. She offered later to beat Ferrum up if she was too mean to me again."

"So she's after my job, huh?" Malroth smirked.

He knew it was the wrong thing to say when her face went as pale as the towel on her head.

"No!" Crea shouted, frantic words starting to spill from her lips. "I'm sure she was joking, or only trying to help while you were sleeping, I could never let her replace you! Malroth listen, you are the most important thing to me and I could NEVER let anything happen to you, let alone have her take your place after all that we've—!"

"Whoa whoa whoa! Hey, easy!" Malroth said loudly, raising his hands to interrupt her blubbering. "It was a joke, and a bad one, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Her eyes were glossy, tears pooling on her eyelids. She looked at him with wide eyes, her hands tucked close to her chest as if she were trying to protect her heart. "Please don't leave," she whispered. 

Oh, his heart did not like that. Malroth scooted forward, hurriedly taking her in a firm embrace. "I won't," he whispered in her ear. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"Never again?" she asked, her hands hesitantly snaking around to his back.

"Never again," he said. "At least on purpose."

Crea sniffled, her voice quiet and ragged. "Don't scare me like that."

Malroth squeezed her sides. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah," she nodded, pulling away with a shy smile. "But I like hearing it."

He grinned. "I love you."

Her smile widened, a faint blush spreading over her face. 

"By the way," Malroth said, running a hand through his hair. "Where's the hammer?"

"Oh!" Crea jumped up so fast she nearly lost her towel, making Malroth laugh. She found her bag among the discarded clothing on the floor, picking it up and carrying it back to the bed. Malroth watched as she pulled the hammer from it, its familiar shape setting a wave of satisfaction through his core. 

"It's perfect," he said in awe. She handed it to him and he took it gingerly, admiring the colors and weight. "What are the rubies for? They're blingy."

"Long story short, they're the part that can make it reflect magic," Crea explained. "I think you're just supposed to swing at it? But I haven't asked. I picked rubies because they made me think of your eyes."

"Really?" he said, looking at her.

She smiled, a little bashful. "I mean, it's probably a little too sentimental for your taste, but…"

He smiled. "Thank you," he said, quiet and genuine. "Now they'll make me think of you, too."

She blushed.

Malroth turned away, bouncing the hammer in his grip. "It's lighter than I expected," he said, forcefully changing the subject. 

"I thought the same thing!" Crea laughed. "I haven't made mine yet, so I'll have to go do that tomorrow, probably."

"Can I pick your gems?"

"If you want." She adjusted her pouch on her lap. "Which do you like?"

"Do you have any mythril?" he asked, watching as she dug through her bag. "I like the way those ones sparkle."

She pulled out an oversized lump of the shimmering stone. "This is my last one, but I think it's big enough to split."

"Great! And then what?"

She blinked. "What?"

Malroth shrugged, letting the hammer rest on the bed in front of him. "We've got the upgrade now. What's stopping us from just going and batting Zeligon down while we've got surprise on our side?"

Crea frowned as she thought. "I mean, I suppose we could do that. We'd still have to find out where he's holed up, though."

"I could ask around while you're doing hammer things tomorrow," he said. "Unless you want to spend a little more time with me before you head back into it."

She smiled, leaning forward. "We can figure that out tomorrow," she said, her forehead coming to rest against his. "For tonight, I just want to focus on here and now."

Malroth smiled, taking her shoulders in his hands and pulling her down to the bed with him. "Now you're talking my language."


	21. My Own Hymn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I sing my own hymn_   
_It says_   
_Yes, your soul is good_
> 
> In which Damara teaches Malroth a thing or two.

It hadn't taken long for Crea to fall asleep, but Malroth felt restless as soon as she was out. He had mentioned to her not to worry if he was gone when she woke; she had acknowledged it, but he wasn't sure if she would remember it come morning. Either way, he was up patrolling the walls in the dark night under the waning moon, his new hammer strapped to his back. There was too much pent up energy in him to try and sleep now, even if keeping watch was largely unnecessary. It was something to keep him busy, at least.

As well as ponder on this locket she'd asked for. She hadn't given him any details on what this small necklace was supposed to look like. In any case, he wanted to do it without Crea's help. If it was going to be a symbol of his companionship to her, it had to be from him.

Or at least, from him with a little eensy bit of help from their friends. Heaven knew he'd probably destroy so many attempts in the process. He groaned as he thought of it. 

"Is late, hm?"

Malroth turned to Damara's voice, catching a glimpse of her face in the dim moonlight. "I more or less just slept for a week," he said. "Too restless to sleep right now."

Damara nodded in understanding, falling in step with him as he kept walking around the battlements. 

"What are you doing up, anyway?" he asked. "Don't you sleep?"

"Not as well as I used to," she said. "These things happen when you get older. Bodies sometimes stop behaving as they ought."

Malroth nodded, trying to express sympathy. 

"Otherwise, I'm checking in on Malroth to see how he's doing." She smiled. "It's been a while since we talked, after all."

He would have smiled at that, had it been daytime, or if Crea or anyone else had been nearby. Smiled to delay, to confuse, to evade. But alone in the darkness, his truth was harder to hide.

"Something doesn't feel right," he murmured. 

"Oh?"

Malroth chewed his lip. "Yeah. Crea went to sleep and I started to feel… nervous? I think." 

After a lengthy silence, he looked over at Damara's face, but her expression was unreadable. 

"Nervous because of the task ahead?" Damara began. "Or nervous because you worry she will be the one not to wake this time?"

Malroth sighed. "Maybe both." Honestly he hadn't given it much thought.

"I would not worry. Darkness makes our concerns bigger because we cannot properly see them. But morning always comes to chase the shadows."

Malroth frowned, thinking on this. He thought he understood, but sometimes it was hard to make sense of it with her strange way of speaking.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, Malroth occasionally glancing out over the rest of the island. At least her presence was calming, even if he didn't understand her all the time.

"Do you know what a locket is?" Malroth asked suddenly. 

"Is like the pendant that opens and closes?" Damara asked. "Yes, I'm familiar with the concept."

He tightened his lips into a thin line. "I… want to make one. For Crea."

Damara hummed.

"I wanted so badly to help her, when I was in my dreams," he explained. "She says I don't have to do things for her, but I want her to remember. Just in case I can't be there again. But I don't know the first thing about how to make one."

Damara smiled, keeping her head low. "You mean a lot to her," she said.

"What?"

"Is clear she cares very fondly for you. You did not see her frantic looks after you left, how she went sleepless for two whole days to look for a solution. How she kept herself so busy she had no time to worry herself more over you."

Malroth scoffed quietly, vague memories of Moonbrooke surfacing in his mind. "Not the first time she's done that, either. How do I make it stop? I don't want her to hurt herself for my sake."

"Is not a choice you have, I'm afraid."

"I should," he grumbled. "She's worried about _me._ I don't want her to be."

Damara allowed herself a rare frown. "You cannot force her to bury her feelings, or expect her to change how she feels just because you ask her to. You should not try to change her, because you can't."

"I'm not! I just don't think—" He stopped himself, catching his words before he spoke them. He froze on the battlements, crossing his arms across his chest. There was a vulnerability on his lips that he could taste. It was strong. Slightly bitter.

"Don't think what?" Damara encouraged gently, stopping beside him.

"I don't feel worth that," he admitted, so quiet he could hardly hear himself.

"And why not?"

"Because it hurts her!"

"Malroth," Damara chided. "You cannot protect her from _ everything. _ Is impossible."

"But—"

"The only way to keep her from pain is to make her stop living her life," she continued. "Is not possible. And even if it were, she would not forgive you."

Malroth huffed. He knew it was right, even if he didn't like it.

Damara smiled sadly. "You care much for her. Is clear. But you cannot love her so fiercely without allowing her to love you back."

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Why is she not allowed to want to protect you as strongly as you want to do for her?"

"Because she's worth more than me!" Malroth yelled, impatiently stomping his foot but harboring no anger. "Because her safety has always been more important than mine! Because everything would fall apart without _ her, _ and I'm just… just…" he trailed off. _ I'm just me. Nothing special. Not like her. _

Damara hummed, but otherwise made no response.

Malroth's head was spinning. "I don't understand," he croaked. "Why bring this up? What are you getting at?"

"You carry your worth like a burden," Damara observed.

"I'm not—"

"Bullshit."

Malroth blinked. That was definitely not something he expected from her.

"You have worth but do not see it in yourself. Is very good at hiding it. Or ignoring it. Either way, Crea sees it. She tries to tell you but you dismiss her too. Why?"

Malroth stared at the wooden floor beneath him, his mouth thinning into a line.

Her calm face betrayed no expression, yet radiated free of malice. "Is it because you have tied your importance to your adjacency to her? You think you are only worthy if she deems it?"

"Stop," he mumbled. 

"She is not inherently better than you. Just different."

"I know that," he said. "Just… stop."

Damara sighed, looking up at the night sky. 

Malroth rubbed his elbow, a storm beginning to stir in his gut. He hated this feeling. Normally he would run off to beat something up to quell the anger that always seemed to arise when he didn't understand something. But there were no monsters here. There were no outlets. Only Zeligon and Hargon's curse. He felt…

Well, he didn't rightly know what he was feeling. And he still didn't know why Damara wanted to bring it up now. 

"When you look at the sky," Damara said suddenly, her eyes still upwards. "What is it that you see?"

Malroth humored her, looking up. "Stars," he said flatly.

"What about the stars?" she asked.

"Uh…" He shrugged. "I dunno. They're pretty?"

"Don't tell me what you think I want to hear, child. Tell me what you think."

Malroth sighed. "Well, there's a lot of them," he began. "And sometimes I can see constellations. That's neat. I don't remember them. Sometimes when the moon is empty I can see lots of colors in a streak across the sky, and that's cool too. Pretty, even."

Damara hummed. "So, these constellations and colors and stars– would you say they're _ cool _ and _ pretty _ just because you told me right now that they are?"

"Because _ I…?"_ He frowned, searching the sky. "No. They just are."

He felt Damara's gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked at her smiling face.

"Then if they _ just are," _ she said. "Then how are you any different? You are not worthy because anyone _ says _ so. You _ just are." _

It was like a light had turned on. The swirling of his stomach evaporated, leaving an empty stillness in its place. Her point was well seen, but he didn't know how long it would take to implement it.

"Why are you telling me this?" Malroth asked. 

Damara straightened up, exhaling slowly. "Admittedly, I don't rightly know. It felt important. Something's… changing. Out there. Do you feel it?"

Malroth cast his eyes into the courtyard, eyeing the bell. It looked the same to him, but he wondered if maybe it was nearly ready. "No," he lied.

Damara followed his gaze. If she knew he was lying, she didn't mention it. "In any case, I thought it best to strengthen each other. In the event of the worst."

At that, Malroth saw something tangible in her expression. It lingered on her face for a brief moment as her eyes swept over the castle. The way her eyebrows crinkled made him nervous.

"What did you do to Ferrum?" he asked, eager to pull the conversation elsewhere. 

"Hm?" She snapped from wherever her mind had been, looking at him with her normal expression.

Malroth swallowed. "Crea said she saw you do something to Ferrum. You grabbed her face and whispered something and Ferrum flipped out. What did you do?"

Damara laughed. "She saw that, did she? She's very clever. I should've known it was strange she turned up there right after."

Malroth eyed her carefully as she chuckled to herself.

Damara extended her hands towards his face, and her innocent smile surprised him. "May I?"

Malroth eyed her warily, looking between each of her hands and then up to her face. He gave a curt nod, his body prepared to fight or run if necessary. Damara took his face between her hands, leaning in to hover by his ear.

"I took a gamble and won," she whispered.

"What?" he demanded, her arms dropping as she pulled away from his face. "What does that even mean?"

She chuckled. "When you're a leader as long as I've been, you learn to get very good at reading people," she said cheerfully. "It's all just asking the right questions to land at the appropriate assumptions. In her case, I guessed something very specific about her and so I told her what I thought."

Malroth was incredulous. "That's all?"

"It could've been very awkward had I been wrong, let me assure you," she said, her hand hovering by her mouth as if to cover another laugh. "But she's not a subtle woman. I've learned to trust my instincts enough to make use of my observational skills."

Malroth relaxed. "So she thought you were a demon because she thought you read her mind, or something?"

"Essentially," Damara confirmed. "But if that belief kept her from harming Crea's progress, I wasn't about to correct her."

Malroth smirked. "You've gotta teach me that trick."

"You would truly be a terror," Damara chuckled, walking with him across the battlements once again. "I approve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D things are slow for the next few chapters but I think I have some exciting things planned out! and angst. LOTS of angst. can't forget that. 
> 
> anyway, how are you liking things? how do you think things will go down? what questions do you still have that you hope will be addressed??


	22. Stall Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We are still far from over_
> 
> In which the bell glows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a set-up chapter, so this one feels a little slow to me. but uh. enjoy it while you can? we've got some big things coming >:3

It had been several hours before dawn when Malroth had returned to bed, snuggling up to Crea's back. She made a happy noise in her sleep as he settled in around her, pressing herself closer to his chest. A smile lingered on his mouth as he fell asleep, arm draped over her side. He truly was lucky. 

It had only been a few hours of rest, but it was enough for him this time. Crea had left for Ferrum's after breakfast, and Malroth had managed to acquire several sheets of paper to doodle on while she was gone. Damara had explained a locket in theory well enough, so now he only had to visualize such a contraption. 

...Which turned out to be more difficult than he anticipated. He should've known, if he was being perfectly honest. But at least the pages hadn't set themselves on fire this time, as opposed to the last time he tried to draw. He just couldn't get it to look right, like what he had in his head. He frowned. He hoped actually _ making _ the thing would be slightly less complicated than this. 

Malroth seemed to know it wouldn't be. In his frustration, he destroyed his art, dumping the pages into the fire.

In the afternoon, Crea returned with her new hammer in hand. Where his had been practically black with a copper sheen, hers was bright silver with the same effect. The mythril blended in nicely, casting a faint green light when the light hit it just right. She was radiant, and he felt he could get swallowed whole in the light of her smile. It lifted him. 

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked. "We've got some time to kill before dinner, and Isra will be pushy about how I'm in the way even though I'm not."

"Good call," she agreed, heading for the door. 

Malroth followed out, stepping onto the paved roadways in the bright but fading afternoon light. They fell in line with each other, simply meandering through the completed part of the town, as well as through the half-planned buildings along the back. They didn't speak much, but they didn't really need to. Being together was enough for now. She brushed his hand too many times for his liking, and he grabbed it, teasingly nibbling her fingers. She laughed, letting her fingers fall between each of his as they continued around.

"How was Ferrum today?" Malroth asked suddenly. "I should've asked earlier."

"Well I've got my hammer, haven't I?" She grinned. "I'm feeling much more confident. She gave me such a hard time about my work before, but I had most of it right. Just little technique things."

Malroth nodded. He wondered if Ferrum would try to give him a hard time if he wanted to use her forge. He hoped not, though he wasn't against throwing down if she was gonna put up a fight about it. 

"I've been wondering about the bell lately," Malroth said, remembering his pull towards it the night before. "Something seems different around here."

"I was thinking about that today too," Crea agreed. "I think this bell is super different. It hasn't done anything yet and it's been more than a week already. All the other bells at least upgraded a little within the first day or two."

Malroth hummed. "So, what, it's gonna go all at once?"

"It could," Crea said. "Dunno what the threshold is though. We've admittedly been getting good gratitude around here for a little bit, so I'm not sure what the hold up is."

They continued their aimless wander, passing back into the developed buildings and towards the main gate.

"Do you think Zeligon knows about this place?" Malroth asked suddenly. "It seems weird he hasn't tried to bother us here directly."

"I dunno," Crea said. "He might not want to take his chances against us with twelve friends nearby."

"Good point. I can't wait to—"

Malroth was interrupted by Crea's gasp, who then abruptly let go of his hand and took off running towards the builder's bell. He followed, hoping his gut reaction hadn't been wrong. She ascended the platform, putting her hand reverently up to the bell.

"That seemed reassuring," Malroth smirked.

"This is incredible," Crea whispered with awe. "It usually glows when it can start doing its thing, but I haven't seen one glow this brightly before."

He looked at it carefully, noticing that the residue from the vines and moss had completely disappeared. It wasn't necessarily shining to his view, but it certainly looked better. 

"Well?" Malroth encouraged. "You gonna ring it now?"

Crea pulled her hammer from her bag, grinning back at him with wild enthusiasm before readying her strike. Her hammer shimmered as she swung it with all her might, metal striking metal with a glorious, massive noise.

It had been a while since Malroth had heard her strike a builder's bell like this, and never since Hargon had been purged from his soul. The emanating magic struck him square in the chest like never before, feeling like he'd been punched in the ribcage. It didn't hurt though. He staggered a bit, subsequent waves of magic rifling through his hair like a breeze. He gasped for breath. _ Is this normal? _ he wondered. All those times the towns had exclaimed their desire and motivation to build– was this _ that? _

Crea was marveling at the bell too much to notice his lapse, for which he was grateful. She would only panic to see him staggering about and reduced to… breathless wonder, he supposed. Still, it felt pleasant. 

The townsfolk arrived quickly, swarming around the platform where Crea turned to beam at them. She was practically glowing herself. 

"What's the meaning of this?!" Garrick demanded, pushing to the front of the group. "I've never heard anything like that before in my life!"

"Cool huh?" Crea said, her trademark grin. "That's your bell for ya."

"That was—?" He sputtered. "Then… the legend?"

"Not as drastic as you were hoping, huh?" Malroth smirked. "We've done this a lot. The sound should bring in any stragglers."

"But—" Garrick was struggling for words, clearly conflicted about the turn of events. "Reborn?" was all he could manage.

"It's more like a new age than a rebirth," Crea admitted. "At least for the other four places we've done this same thing."

"Granted the new part usually came after we beat up the big bad monster," Malroth grinned enthusiastically, his teeth flashing bright.

"Then we will plan for a fight," Damara said, raising "Though we should wait for our encounter until we are sure no one else will come. A few days, probably."

"I can agree with that," Crea said.

"That said," Damara said, gesturing for Crea to come closer as the crowd dispersed. "I had some questions for you concerning—"

Malroth lost the next part of the conversation, the two women beginning to talk and walk away. He looked around, thinking about what he could do while Crea was otherwise occupied with builder things. It was when he saw Ferrum stalking back towards her forge that he grinned. _ That'll work. _

Malroth followed, keeping pace behind the woman until they arrived at the shop. Ferrum disappeared inside, and he waited a moment before going inside himself.

The place was dark at the moment, aside from the heating glow of the furnace tucked in the corner. He was surprised to see Ferrum waiting for him, hands on her hips and scowling.

"So the sleepy dreamer returns," she sneered. "Decided we were good enough for your presence again, huh?"

Malroth prickled, squashing his urge to punch her. He understood why Crea didn't like her, not that he needed a demonstration.

"What do you want?" she demanded. 

"I need to use the forge," he said through gritted teeth. "And you're gonna help me."

"Oh am I?" She snorted. "Of course, because I exist as a public servant now! What, you gonna make something for your girl twirl?"

Malroth's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "My what?"

Ferrum rolled her eyes. "Girl twirl. Your chew toy?"

Malroth blinked, shaking his head as he didn't understand.

She sighed dramatically. "Your girlfriend," she said flatly.

"Well yeah," he said. He didn't understand why that was supposed to be an insult. His blank approval seemed to knock her off guard though, so it didn't bother him that much.

"Figures," she grumbled. "What, you want a ring?"

"Why would I want a ring?" he snapped. "I want to make a locket, if you're smart enough to know what that is."

"Ooh, nontraditional. Just like everybody else who wants to be unique," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "You _ do _ realize that smithing is quite different from _ jewelry making, _ right?"

Malroth shrugged with outstretched arms. "Does it matter that much? You both do metal things! Who cares?"

"Me!" Ferrum said, leaning forward for emphasis. "And this is _ my _ forge, so it's _ my _ rules!"

"Then what are the rules?" he challenged. 

She hesitated. "You ever smith before?"

"No."

"Then no furnace," she demanded. "You know how to handle the hot metal from a mold?"

"No."

Ferrum pursed her lips. "Then you can't do that either," she said thinly. "And working the hot metal?"

"I haven't done any of this before!" Malroth said, exasperated. 

"Then why the hell are you here?" Ferrum snapped. "I'm not gonna hold your hand!"

"Look," Malroth said, his frustrations growing by the second. "Up until a couple months ago, everything I tried to build set itself on fire and blew up! I couldn't make anything even as simple as a straw bed!"

Ferrum's face flushed red with annoyance. "So you want me to do it for you?"

"No! Just make sure I don't blow anything up!" he yelled, clenching his fists at his side and stomping his foot. "I'll fail as many times as I have to, I don't care! Just make sure it's not entirely catastrophic if something screws up, because it always has been before."

Ferrum blinked, contemplating this. He wished he could know what she was thinking, her eyes narrowing and twitching on occasion as she mulled it over.

"Fine," she conceded, clearly reluctant. "But you bring your own materials."

"Fine," he echoed, shooting her a strong glare before spinning on his heel and leaving.

He took a deep breath outside, growling under his breath as he stomped off. He was glad that she at least granted permission, but she was gonna hover over him like _ crazy, _ he could already tell. And with how much he expected to fail, he was certain he'd never hear the end of it.

He groaned loudly, throwing his head back towards the sky. _ Why did I think this was a good idea? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tf is a good female version of "boy toy"?? I asked my mother-in-law and she suggested "girl twirl" because of the rhyme. meanwhile the internet said "chew toy" so I just ran with it and used both. not that malroth noticed. XD


	23. Cold Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I won't let them take me down_
> 
> In which Malroth practices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was such a STRUGGLE and I have nfc why. So. hopefully it doesn't feel as awkward to you as it did to me!

Malroth came home to an empty house, unsurprisingly. He grumbled, shucking off clothing as he got ready for sleep. He hoped Crea wouldn't be out _ too _ late. She had a bad habit of doing that when she was caught up in a project, and who knows what Damara even asked of her. 

He wasn't awake long enough to see her come home. In the morning, he woke to her wrapped around his back, sleeping peacefully. He was grateful that she'd made it to bed at all, honestly. Damara had probably made her do it.

Extracting himself carefully from her grip, Malroth eased out of bed, combing his hair and getting dressed. He found Crea's bag on the bedside table, and he quietly poked through it to find the gold ore he needed. Stuffing several lumps in his pockets, and several lumps of anticipation in his stomach, he left.

Malroth walked the long way around to the forge, past the bell and around the quiet buildings. Dawn was shifting out of its colors into regular blue sky, though he could see clouds on the far horizon. Rain, he guessed.

Approaching the forge, his eyes hardened. As much as he wanted to do this, he was not looking forward to the belittlement that was likely to accompany his efforts. But, he'd made a promise. Not out loud, perhaps, but Crea rarely spoke so openly about what she _wanted,_ and he could never pass up an opportunity like that.

Malroth stepped inside, eyes scanning the place quickly. He zeroed in on Ferrum, and he frowned. She was standing sideways to him, an arm folded across her chest while her other hand rubbed at her lip. Her eyes were vacant as she stared into the flames of the furnace, spacing out. Taking a tentative step forward, Malroth tried to make a little noise to keep her from startling too harshly. He dug the gold ore out of his pockets, setting it on the anvil with a dull thunk.

Ferrum turned, the vacant expression shifting into plain uninterest. But it wasn't an upset one, he was quick to notice. 

"So you came back," she said dryly.

Malroth said nothing, watching her carefully. He'd have to try really hard not to lose his cool if this went south in a hurry. 

Ferrum ran a hand across her head. "Alright," she said, already sounding bored. "Locket, eh? Probably should start with the chain, I guess. That's my least favorite part so we'll just get it out of the way, huh?"

Malroth nodded once, still observing. 

Ferrum sighed, annoyed. "Well don't just stand there, bring the ore over."

He moved warily around the anvil to her side in slow even steps. This was oddly unlike her, and though he didn't expect much by way of _ why, _ he didn't want to take any chances in case she tried to push him into the furnace or something.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that," Ferrum snapped. "C'mon. Put the gold in here. You'll have to mix in a little silver to make it stronger. Gold is pretty flimsy on its own."

"I'll need to go get some," Malroth grumbled, turning.

Ferrum grabbed his elbow. "You won't even use a whole lump. I prepped it already anyway."

He calmed his gut reaction to fight at being grabbed. "I thought you weren't helping," he said instead, an eyebrow raising.

"Supervising," she replied, turning and letting go of his arm. 

Malroth rubbed the feeling of her hand away. "What is up with you?" he demanded. 

She paused with her back to him. "Why do you care?"

"I'd like to know if you plan on hurting anybody; namely me, since we're conveniently real close to a blazing furnace."

"You think I'd do that?" Ferrum laughed darkly. "Do you know how annoying bone dust is to get out of there?"

"Do _ you?" _ Malroth asked.

"Nope." Ferrum turned around. "And I'd make a joke about finding out, but I'm pretty sure you can't take a joke."

"Not a good joke by any stretch," Malroth sneered.

"Yeah, well, never you mind," she snapped. "And get going on this smelting."

They cast the metal into small, circular rods on the first try, much to Malroth's surprise. Ferrum seemed smug about it, but didn't mention it directly. They made several, but he seemed to know they would need many more by the time he was finished.

"You know how to make a chain?" Ferrum asked later, the rod half cooled on the anvil. 

"Lots of circles, I dunno," Malroth said. He'd seen plenty of chains, but never bothered to look at them very closely. 

Ferrum gave him an unimpressed glare. "Cut into small loops, then interlock the loops together." She pointed at a tool on top of the anvil, looking to Malroth much like scissors. "Use the pliers to shape."

So he tried. Cutting the rod into smaller pieces proved difficult, several of them crunching in awkward places and bending themselves when he cut them. It realistically shouldn't have been possible, but it was just his luck. Or inexperience. 

"Well it's a good thing this is just practice," Ferrum said, distaste apparent in the curl of her lip. "The actual thing will be much smaller."

"What?" Malroth exclaimed. "You mean this doesn't even count?"

"Have you ever seen a necklace this big?" she asked, pointing at the small rod.

He grumbled. "I don't think I've even seen a proper necklace at this point." He noticed another subtle, hesitant look on her face, but she hid it again just as quickly. He was starting to regret this. 

"Better get cracking then," she said, crossing her arms.

* * *

Practicing went on for the whole day, lopsided rings turning into a bigger lopsided chain. It admittedly had gotten better towards the end, the golden loops starting to look somewhat normal and consistent with each other. Still a little bumpy though, no matter how he tried to pound them out. Ferrum had done normal Ferrum things, hovering and pointing out flaws rather than giving too much advice on how to improve. 

In the evening, he came back to his empty room, flopping on the bed to stare up at the empty ceiling. 

It was good for him to actually have something to do, he knew. But he hated it, too. Bashing monsters was one thing; he would swing and if he missed, it was an immediate swing in another direction. Not that he usually missed. But this? This was a physical manifestation of a mistake that he couldn't just hide. And Ferrum was always ready to pounce on that. He almost wanted to give up and wait until they got back to the Isle, even if it would be less of a surprise there.

He heard the door open and he propped himself up on his elbows. Crea looked completely exhausted, but she was still grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey you," she said, chipper as ever as she removed her belts and bag. "We haven't had a chance to talk since yesterday."

Malroth forced a half-hearted smile. "You've been busy." It was a lame excuse.

"Yeah, we had someone new come today! They heard the bell, of course. Damara thinks more are coming too, so I had to make sure we had enough beds and stuff, as well as—" She cut herself off, freezing as her brain seemed to catch up with her mouth. "Er, sorry. None of that should take priority over you," she said awkwardly, changing into more suitable bed clothes. "That's not fair to either of us." She fell down on the bed next to him looking over at him with a pure smile.

Malroth huffed as he fell back on his back. "How do you keep going?" he asked.

"What?"

"How do you keep going?" he repeated. "When…" Malroth bit his lip, searching for words before sighing in defeat. "When you're building and things are really hard."

"Ah," she said, rolling onto her side to put her arm across his abdomen. 

"I mean that probably doesn't even happen to you anymore," Malroth added.

Crea hummed her disagreement. "Of course it does, I've just had lots of practice overcoming that in the moment." She raised her hand further up to his chest, slipping under his open shirt. "Is that why I haven't seen you all day? You've been holed up practicing somewhere?"

Malroth grunted in affirmation. "You've been busy. What else was I gonna do?"

"You have a point," she said. "But to answer your question, it helps if I think about how excited the other person will be when I finish what I made for them. I may not have an exact plan on how to get there, but thinking about their response is my motivation."

He stared at the ceiling, thinking on this. "But I've never made anything like this for anyone before," he said. "How do I think about that?"

"You've seen said recipient happy before, right?"

He looked over at Crea, her calm face exuding confidence. "Yeah," he said.

"Then I bet you could probably imagine it pretty well." She adjusted, scooting closer to him. He mimicked her, turning up on his side to face her. She giggled.

"Thanks," Malroth mumbled, pressing his forehead against hers. 

"I'm excited to see it," she whispered. 

"Yeah," he breathed. "Me too."

Their breathing steadied for a moment, the rising wind whipping past the windows to accompany them. Crea looked relieved, he thought. He wondered if he looked the same. 

"What was Damara asking you about?" he asked quietly. "After you rang the bell."

"Ah, uh…" Her mouth opened and closed several times, visibly hesitating.

"Crea?" 

She bit her lip. "Damara was asking me about… traps," she said warily. "She wanted to… help reinforce the castle if Zeligon showed up around here. Catch him off guard, or… something." She looked nervous.

"Why are you acting like this?" he asked. "You know I won't bite you. At least now."

She shot him a dirty look. "Because I thought you wouldn't like it," she whispered. 

"So?"

"So?" Crea echoed. _"So? _You think I'm just going to forget the last time?"

Malroth sighed. "Yeah, I still think they're cheap. But you and anybody we've ever been with have never been as strong as me. Don't think I haven't forgotten."

"I know, but…" She was trying so hard to say the right words and finding none of them. "Okay, I don't know how else to say this, so forgive me if it comes out wrong. But, wouldn't they just remind you of Moonbrooke? Believe me, I'm still not fond of the idea of traps around here, but I'm pretty sure that whole island was way more traumatizing for you. What with the voice in your head and all."

"Ah." Malroth took a breath, small stray unprocessed emotions surfacing a little. It wasn't her fault, it really wasn't. "I can… see why that would bother you."

"Is it wrong?"

"No," he said. "But things are a lot different now than they were then."

Crea nodded. "Such as?"

"I can build now," Malroth said with a shrug. "I think."

She waited for him to offer more by way of an explanation, but her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion after a minute of silence. "That's all?"

Malroth nodded. "Pretty much."

"I have so many questions," Crea whispered. 

"Look." He smoothed at her eyebrows with his thumb. "Back then, when I couldn't build, I figured my only purpose was to protect you. I couldn't really do much else for you otherwise. So I had a lot of pride in what I did. And I…" Malroth paused, gathering his thoughts. "I guess I had tied my entire worth to that. To destroying stuff and making sure you didn't get hurt. So at the time, the traps were… an infringement, I guess. On the only thing I could even do for you."

Crea's eyes were wide, searching his face. 

"I thought that meant you were saying you didn't want me anymore. That you could just build a replacement to do my job better than me. That you could build yourself a better protector."

"Which is why you told me you didn't like them," she said.

Malroth nodded. "And why I started acting out. At least in part. I wanted to prove that I was better than some stationary junk, that I could still protect you better than them. Annoying that troll to start a fight? Moonahan? I was trying to prove that I was still worth anything." He sighed. "If not to you, then to myself."

Crea placed her hand on his cheek. "I could never replace you, Malroth," she said earnestly. 

"I know." He moved his hand to rest gently on her wrist. "I'm better than any trap you've ever made."

She _ finally _ smiled at that. 

"But I promise it won't bother me," Malroth said. "They're kinda handy, actually. Saves me a little bit of effort after all."

"Boy, that's how I _ know _ you love me," Crea grinned. "Giving up smashing monsters? No higher form of love!"

Malroth grinned devilishly, sitting up enough to hover over her face. "You wanna know why I wanna save some effort? I could show you."

Crea laughed, her contagious enthusiasm gripping his heart. "I hope you will."


	24. Shaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And I can never take_   
_The promises I made_   
_ [away from you](https://youtu.be/bXCMbPsaV8I) _
> 
> In which it is finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy November! good luck to all you NaNoWriMo's out there :3

"Damara said more people showed up in the night, so I'll have to expand the dormitory today."

Malroth looked up from his bowl of noodles. Crea had her book sprawled open on the table in front of her, rough sketches spread across the page in chaotic fashion. She was eating toast and eggs, mindlessly chasing the yolks with her fork as she flipped through the pages.

"You think there will be many more?" he asked.

"I dunno," she said, looking down long enough to scoop the egg on her utensil. "Either way, building in this rain is gonna suck."

Rain splattered against the window as if to prove her point. It had started in the night, waking Malroth at first. Usually it helped him sleep, but for some reason he was restless, waking up every few hours. Crea was curled up tightly against him each time, seeking warmth from the slight chill of the weather outside. He would smooth at her hair, watching her as he calmed his mind enough to go back to sleep. In the end, he considered sleeping in, but he kept feeling a pull, urging him to continue working to finish the locket. It didn't make much sense to him, but he didn't have enough of a reason to disagree. 

"Make sure you take plenty of breaks to warm up and dry off," Malroth said. "I don't want you catching a cold."

Crea sniggered. "You're one to talk."

"That was one time!" he huffed. She merely laughed.

"Don't worry," she said, standing and shouldering her book while taking the rest of her toast in her hand. "I'll take plenty of breaks. Good luck on your practice though, hm?"

"Thanks." Malroth averted his eyes in embarrassment, staring back down at his food. She _ had _ to know.

He sprinted through the rain when he was done, sliding into the forge. Ferrum was peeling long, thick wires from a container, placing them on the anvil.

Malroth wiped the water from his face. "What's that?"

"Wire," she said, not looking at him. "It's more suitable for what you're making."

"And you made them _ for _ me?"

"No. I had extra."

Malroth scrunched his eyebrows. "Why do you have extra?"

Ferrum scoffed. "Not important. In any case, now that you've had some minute amount of practice, maybe you won't hate it if you go smaller."

"Thanks I think," he said, approaching her. He scooped the wire and the pliers into his arms, taking them to a nearby workbench. Ferrum turned, grabbing a piece of iron in her tongs and starting to work it on the anvil.

Malroth fell into a rhythm himself, cutting and shaping and linking. It was easier to work smaller, he thought. Annoying to try and thread them together, no doubt, but overall less lopsided. Or if it was funny shaped, it wasn't hard to squash it back in place or remove it entirely. It wasn't until he noticed the growing pile of discarded loops that he realized just how many he was removing. It didn't feel as bad as he thought it would, though he was still disappointed. 

Time passed. He decided to make several chains, hoping that maybe each would look better than the last. Wrapping his most recent one around his neck, he checked the length of it, comparing it to his own necklace.

"You satisfied with one now?" Ferrum asked, pausing from her own project.

Malroth frowned at it. "Maybe? I dunno. I was checking to see how long it is."

"Hope you've got a design picked out for the pendant," Ferrum grumbled. "Cos at this rate you'll probably get to it today."

"Uh, yeah, sure," he said, not bothering to hide his uncertainty. He hadn't thought about that since he started.

A clattering sound rang from behind him and he turned to look at the noise, seeing Ferrum digging around in a drawer. 

"Here," she said, unceremoniously dumping two matching trays on the counter. "You'll probably need these."

Malroth stood, the golden chain still hanging on his neck and clacking softly against his bone necklace. Ferrum turned away to deal with something in the furnace as he approached, and he looked down at the trays. Inside there were two diamond shaped indents, each mimicking the other with small differences. A smaller removable shape sat within each side, leaving enough room for liquid to fit within the pieces. He realized it looked like they were supposed to fit together.

"Is this…" Malroth looked up, his stern expression digging into her back. "This is for a pendant."

"Acute observation," she taunted, shovelling coal into the bottom of the furnace. But she didn't have the same venom and fire behind it that she normally did. He wondered if he could make use of the things Damara had taught him about questions. 

"Why do you have this?" he asked firmly.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, still not turning around. "A personal project," she admitted. She shovelled more coal.

"The hell are you playing at?" Malroth demanded. "This is way too specific to just _ have. _ What's going on?"

"I don't have to answer to _ you _ of all people," she snapped back. "It's personal. That's the point."

"Ferrum," he warned, growling lowly. "The furnace is overflowing."

Ferrum froze mid-motion, noticing for herself the cascade of coal spilling out onto the tiles, and the adjoining fire licking its way through it. She scowled, sweeping the excess coal off to the side and snuffing the unneeded fire.

"Why are you doing this if it bothers you so much?" he asked, his expression a neutral frown. "Why are you still here if we all annoy you so much that you have to belittle everyone at every moment?"

"I have to destroy Zeligon," she muttered.

Malroth blinked. Not the direction he expected. "Why?"

"Why does it matter?" She clenched her fists at her side, finally whipping around to glare at him. "For years my goal has simply been to be his most annoying enemy. Now I have my chance to help ruin his life to make up for him ruining mine. I'd be an idiot not to take that chance."

It was like he could see the cracks in her facade, her tough exterior withering. Damara had instructed him well. Still, he had more questions. 

"What did he do?" Malroth asked. 

She shut her eyes tightly. Her head shook back and forth, refusing to answer as her fists trembled at her side. Trying to hold herself together. 

He looked down at the tray. A thought came. "Ferrum," he said slowly. "Who was the pendant for?"

She crumbled.

"Perenna," she exhaled heavily, her eyes still clamped shut. "Of all the things you wanted to make, it _ had _to be—" She choked, swallowing her words.

"And Zeligon killed them?" he guessed.

"There wasn't anything we could do," Ferrum growled. "I knew I had to do something to stop him. To keep it from happening again. So I trained and studied to develop the metals and properties of the hammer to fight back."

"It worked," Malroth offered.

"Tch," she scoffed, turning.

In the silence that followed, Malroth picked up the tray to inspect it, turning the small pieces over in his hands. As far as he could imagine it, it would look like a miniature orb of power from Moonbrooke, with plenty of intricacies carved into all eight sides.

"You'll have to combine them with a pin in the end, but it'll be sturdy," Ferrum said quietly.

Malroth nodded, hesitating. "Thanks," he mumbled. He didn't know why he felt embarrassed. 

Ferrum waved him off nonchalantly. "We should probably get that going before it gets too late."

* * *

The rest of the process went smoothly. Metal was added and set, cooling quickly due to it's small size. After removing the pieces Malroth sanded them down, polishing and removing the rough edges on the outside and between the intricate openings. He was initially surprised to not have broken it between all the handling, but it was as Ferrum had promised: it was definitely very sturdy. 

Malroth held up the completed locket some hours later, admiring the handiwork. It gleamed a soft golden color, light pleasantly bouncing off of the patterns on all sides. He'd managed not to squash it either, so it remained symmetrical. The chain attached to the loop at the top, not needing a clasp for how long it was. 

Malroth was certain he'd never make anything like it again in his whole life.

"You look satisfied," Ferrum noted.

"It's better than I imagined," he said, lowering the necklace to look at her. "And I couldn't have done it without you."

"I can see why she likes you," she smirked, though she couldn't hide a little appreciative blush. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Malroth grinned, spinning on his heel and hiding the necklace in his pocket before heading outside. It was still drizzling, but not as wet as it had been earlier. He ducked under entryways, jogging between patches of dry underneath the extended roofs. An excited and light feeling gripped his heart, and he could hardly contain himself.

Turning the corner to pass in front of the bell, Malroth froze in place, feeling his blood run cold and fear grip his stomach like an iron fist. Zeligon hovered in the air by the bell, a blue light emitting from his staff. And, suspended and frozen in a blue glow next to the Shaman, was Crea.

"Crea!" Malroth shouted, pulling him hammer from his back and jumping. Zeligon quickly blasted him out of the air, causing him to tumble. Undeterred, he jumped up to his feet, yelling. "What have you done to her?"

Zeligon chuckled darkly. "It appears I underestimated you, human. You were clever to hide here! This island has been concealed from my sight for years." A malicious smile emanated from his hood. "Hidden until you rang the bell, at least."

"You let her go right now!" Malroth demanded, ignoring his monologue.

"For you? Hardly," he laughed. "I have verified your claims."

Malroth bristled. "What claims?"

"That you were the vessel of Lord Malroth!" Zeligon smiled. "Although, you seem to have forgotten to mention that you weren't supposed to survive that whole ordeal."

Malroth grit his teeth.

"Which means I will do my duty as his loyal follower to do what he could not," he added. "It will be fitting to destroy the saviors of this realm."

"Try me!" Malroth yelled, readying his stance.

Zeligon laughed, floating higher into the air with Crea's frozen body following behind. "Oh, not _ here, _ foolish boy. Too many friends. And traps! You've been busy." A white light began to glow from his staff. "You'll have to come to Laic, of course. Alone. Or I'll chop off her finger for how many more you bring with you."

The Shaman disappeared. Malroth breathed heavily, a sense of foreboding looming over him like a cloud. He saw Crea's hammer and bag on the ground in front of him, and he ran to kneel and take her weapon in his hands. Desperation and fear clawed at his heart, the pendant heavy in his pocket. _ No no no, _ he thought desperately. _ This is the part where we're supposed to build her huge blueprint. Where we take back our hope. Where we overthrow the monsters and celebrate and— _

He clenched his eyes shut, hot tears of rage and grief openly streaming down his face. _ How are we supposed to do any of that without her? _

The loss punctuated his thoughts, and he let his fury overcome his being. Malroth curled in on himself, letting it build before he turned up to scream at the sky, a fiery aura encompassing his whole body.

The town would later talk among themselves of this moment, discussing in hushed tones about how the land seemed to rumble and his eyes turned white with an otherworldly glow. About how his rage was so permeable it left a ring of scorch marks in the grass around where he'd been. About the way the world seemed to pause, holding its breath, almost acknowledging him.

But the most reserved of whispers were saved for about the moment when it stopped. When the world continued to breathe, when the fire around him disappeared, when the glow left his eyes and the earth stood still. And all that was left was him in his broken silence, tears spilling freely from his eyes, grinding his fists into the dirt with her hammer at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I can pretty confidently say I'm on the home stretch now. 
> 
> There's a quote I remember from Neil Gaiman a couple years back during NaNoWriMo, somebody asked him how he kept going when the book gets slow or difficult. He basically said that happens a lot around the 2/3rds point of the novel and to struggle through it, and I think I just passed it. The last couple chapters were difficult, but things are moving along again, so! Hold onto your hats!


	25. Sink the Lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You tried to shout out_   
_My words in your mouth_   
_But they'll cry their eyes out, if we_   
_Sink the light house_
> 
> In which Malroth panics.

When Malroth finally rose to his feet some time later, he had a look of murderous determination in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stalked off towards the main gate until Damara stepped in his way, her arms outstretched. 

Malroth could only glare. "Get out of the way."

"I cannot let you do this," she said. 

"Damara," he warned lowly. "Get out of my way."

"Not without a plan."

"I don't have time for a plan!" he shouted. "I have to help her. I won't let her get hurt!"

"And he won't touch her!" she yelled back. "Didn't you hear him? You are his goal. He wishes to kill _ you. _ But by doing so he destroys her without having to lift a finger!"

Malroth clenched his jaw, growling with bared teeth.

"Let us help."

"Absolutely _ not,"_ he snapped. "If killing me saves her then I'll do it. However many times it takes to make sure she's safe."

Damara sighed. "Malroth," she said quietly. "You cannot brute force your way through this."

"Why not?" he demanded angrily. "This is no different from her in Malhalla to get to me!"

Damara frowned, only vaguely understanding. 

"Because she had to take time to get to you, numbskull."

Malroth turned, redirecting his glare at Ferrum. "And how would you know about that?" 

Ferrum leaned to one side, propping a hand on her waist. "She's a talker when she's nervous. She mentioned a couple of things when she was building your hammer."

"Whatever the case," Damara interrupted. "You should at least prepare the best you can for whatever tricks Zeligon has in store for you. I believe you can defeat him if you are equipped to do so."

_ She speaks wisdom. _

At the new voice in his head, he paled, shrinking in rare fear. Malroth felt his stomach flip as dread settled in his chest, the horror of the last voice-occupant welling up in his mind. "Not again!" he screeched, clutching his head with his hands. "Get out of my brain! I refuse to let you ruin everything _ again!" _

Damara exchanged a worried look with Ferrum, who motioned carefully in unspoken instruction. Damara nodded, moving closer in tandem with the blacksmith. At once, they simultaneously tackled him, each pinning an arm and a leg to the ground with their full body weight. Even then he nearly managed to buck them off.

"Let go!" he screamed, thrashing against their grip. "Let me _ go! _ The last time I heard voices, the universe almost died!"

"You are in no state to help anyone!" Ferrum yelled, struggling to keep his arm flat. "Not like this!"

"I'll hurt you!" he pleaded, not as a threat but a warning. "It's too dangerous! _ I'm _too dangerous!"

"That doesn't mean you deserve to die!" Damara reprimanded.

Tears streamed from his eyes, trickling past his ears into his hair. "Please," Malroth begged. "I have to go, I have to get away from here!"

"And do what?" Ferrum demanded.

Not having a valid answer, he sobbed in fear. Fear at the voice. Fear at the uncertainty. Fear at losing Crea. He went limp, all his energy burning up in the flash fire of emotions in his chest.

"You listen to me," Damara commanded, staring him firmly in the eyes. "To us. It will be a suicide mission if you go now. You have to let us prepare you."

"How?" he said, his voice raspy and harsh. "What could you possibly do?"

Damara eased up his hands, confident he would not bolt. Ferrum mimicked, letting him take control of his limbs again. He tucked them all against his chest. 

"We can offer protection," Damara said. 

"You can't," he said, shivering at the wet grass at his back. "He'll hurt her—"

"I do not mean physically should you not choose it. But is another way."

Malroth looked from Damara to Ferrum, then back. "How?"

Damara smiled sadly. "It can be ready tomorrow. I will tell you then. Can you rest in the meantime?"

Malroth hesitated. He wanted to do as she asked, but he was sure his mind wouldn't let him rest. Not long enough to be beneficial, at least. His mouth opened and closed slightly, trying to will himself to speak. "I don't think I can," he whispered. "Not if I… not if I'm… alone." He clenched his eyes shut, the vulnerability on his tongue tasting overwhelmingly sour and bitter. It made him feel embarrassed to admit that out loud, a feeling that stirred anger in his stomach at his helplessness. He felt hands at his shoulders, pulling him upright into a sitting position until soft arms wrapped around him, enveloping his upper torso in a hug. He opened his eyes slightly, seeing Damara's shoulder. 

"Child," she whispered in his ear, loud enough that only he could hear her. "You are wonderfully brave. I am proud of you."

Something stirred within him to hear that for the first time, and he remembered what she'd said about worth. The anger completely dissipated, leaving him raw and otherwise empty. Instead, relief flooded him for some reason. He didn't fully understand, but it didn't matter. Malroth reached up, holding his hands at her shoulders in an exhausted effort to hug her back.

After a long moment, Damara spoke again. "Is getting late."

Malroth let go, letting her draw away to stand. She reached out her hand. He eyed it blankly before taking it, rising to his feet.

"Come," Damara said. "I will watch over you."

He walked with her, arms tucked close across his chest, dimly registering others they passed on the way, as well as Ferrum trailing behind them. He knew he should probably be feeling something, anything, but he was just so… tired. 

Damara ushered him into a house, and he blinked in confusion for half a moment before realizing Crea had recreated her house from Uralir. Mindlessly, he wandered back through the living room to the back bedroom, falling on his stomach on the bed. His heart was heavy, but not as much as his eyelids. There was some whispering at the door behind him, then he felt Damara press at his neck gently.

"Lift your head, please," she said quietly.

Grunting, Malroth raised his head a few inches from the mattress. Swiftly, he felt her slide his bone necklace over his head and past his large ponytail. His head fell back down, Damara pulling a heavy blanket over his back and patting his head in thanks. He listened to the clattering of bones as she walked away, and he cracked an eye open long enough to see Damara hand the necklace to Ferrum. Malroth sighed, letting his eyes close and resigning himself to sleep.

* * *

"Are you sure this will work?"

Ferrum took the bone necklace between her fingers, looking at Damara. She smirked. "Of course it will," Ferrum whispered back. "It won't work multiple times, but I at least know how to make it work once."

Damara looked skeptical at this but otherwise made no comment about it, following her out of the house and onto the street. "And this process works how, exactly?"

Ferrum handled the bones in her hand. "Well, I was gonna add two smaller bones and infuse them with medical herbs so he could last longer in a fight if he needs it."

"Right."

"And then I was going to make a sturdier chain than"—she held up the ratty string—"this nonsense, and infuse _ that _ with Yggdrasil dew."

"I understood that," Damara said, keeping step. "But how does it release when needed?"

"Oh, it's not a one-time release. It's just a periodic thing; for the herbs anyway. The dew is just magic things." Ferrum waved a hand nonchalantly. "You know how it is."

Damara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _ Magic things, indeed. _ "In any case, I appreciate your help in the matter."

"Didn't have many other options though, to be fair," Ferrum smirked.

"Quite. Still, I thought you would be more resistant to a request from me, of all people."

Ferrum scoffed. "I've made better peace about it." She remembered Damara's breath on her ear and suppressed a shiver. 

"Oh?" Damara grinned. "And how would that be?"

Ferrum fixed her eyes straight ahead, not daring to look at the other woman. "Malroth," she said finally.

Damara softened. "He has a way of it, hm?"

"I wasn't expecting him to… _ listen _ as well as he did. Not from the way Crea described him."

"Surprisingly attentive," Damara agreed. "But I don't follow. How did his listening change you?"

Ferrum smiled in a rare moment that wasn't sarcastic. "He's the only one that's asked. It's been a long time. It was good to think of Perenna again in more of a context than just the accident, y'know?"

"And see a bit of yourself, perhaps?" Damara added.

"Only a bit." Ferrum said. "I think they love each other better. And fuller."

The two women walked in silence for a moment, arriving at Ferrum's forge. They stepped inside, the warmth of the furnace chasing the cool air of the evening. Ferrum inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of metal.

"Do you think he can do it?"

Ferrum turned at the question. Damara had a rare expression of concern written across her features, her hands clasped together at her ribcage.

"You don't think so?" Ferrum asked.

"It's not that," Damara said, casting a glance out the window. "He's just… they're both so _ young."_

"Ah," Ferrum said, pulling a small box out onto the anvil. She rooted around inside. "Yeah. That. You just don't want to think about losing them, huh?"

Damara nodded, not meeting her eyes. "I just… cherish them. Is a hen to her chicks, I suppose. Not that I'd know."

Ferrum smirked, finding the bones among her trinkets. "They seem able."

"Yes. I hope so."

A second passed, the sound of scraping filling their ears as Ferrum hollowed out a portion of the tiny bone. 

Damara sighed. "I'd better go. He said he didn't want to be alone, after all."

"Yeah," Ferrum said, waving a hand. "Sure thing. I'll be done soon. Before he wakes up, for sure."

Damara smiled as she left, feeling tired herself. Stepping outside, she took a deep breath, looking up at the cloudy sky. 

_ Rubiss protect us, _ she thought. _ Protect them. _

* * *

_ Malroth._

He was dreaming again. The voice's presence tingled against his conscience, and he felt strange. He opened his eyes, finding a glowing ball in front of him.

"Hela?" He raised his head.

"Yes," she said, the sound echoing of several voices just as before.

"Did my hammer break again?" he mumbled, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"No. I have come to warn you."

Malroth felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

"Zeligon seeks to destroy the builder by destroying you."

"We guessed that," he said, smoothing the hair on his neck. 

"A dark secret lies in Laic," it continued. "Much of this world was copied accurately when you restored it. But Laic picked up some… extra projections."

"Projections?" Malroth echoed. "What do you mean? Like what?"

"Save the builder," Hela said, the glow retreating as it and the dream faded away. "She will tell you, if you succeed."

"Wait!" he yelled, reaching. The darkness consumed him too fast and he huffed. "Would you stop doing that?"


	26. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm rising from ashes_   
_You're gonna see the smoke rising from the trees_   
_I'm roaring like thunder_   
_I'm gonna shake the earth with all that's left of me_
> 
> In which Malroth is followed.

Malroth opened his eyes, disoriented. His hand was reaching away from the bed. Self-consciously he pulled it back, tucking it against his chest. 

_ Hela. _

_ Extra projections? _

He had no idea what any of that meant, not that he wanted to worry about it now. Rescue Crea first. They could worry about the implications of projections and whatever that meant later.

Malroth sat up, a dull pain pressing into his leg. He pulled Crea's pendant from his pocket, holding and turning it over in his hands. It was strange how neutral he felt in this moment. Not rested, but not tired. Just here. 

He didn't like it.

"Good morning."

Malroth turned to Damara's voice, seeing her in a rocking chair in the corner next to the window. He hurriedly hid the locket, self-conscious. "Did you just… watch me sleep all night?"

"I slept too," Damara said with a smile. "Just over here. You said you didn't want to be alone, so you weren't."

Malroth grimaced. "That can't have been comfortable."

"I've had worse."

Malroth rubbed at his neck, remembering she had taken his own necklace the night before. "What'd you do with my bones?"

"They're in the front," she said. "Ferrum made some improvements to it."

"She did _ what?" _ Malroth blurted, jumping off the bed to his feet. He raced out, ignoring Damara's call of protests behind him. The bone necklace was on the table, and he snatched it, holding it in the air to get a good look at it. It had two extra bones, each small and bookending the original three. The cord had been replaced with a metal chain, but the chain itself seemed to have the same properties as a regular cord, moving like normal. He hastily put it on, the materials warming to his skin.

"The bones have medicinal herbs in there," Damara explained. "Since Crea was taken without her bag, it might be necessary if the battle goes ill. And the cord broke, so Ferrum replaced that too."

Malroth resisted his urge to grumble about it. It was thoughtful, even if he didn't care for it.

"Breakfast first," Damara insisted. "And then we go."

"We?" Malroth echoed. "No, no way, I am definitely doing this on my own. If she actually loses fingers from this, she'd never forgive me."

"For one thing, I doubt that," Damara said, ladling hash browns and sausages onto a plate by the fireplace. "Secondly, Ferrum and I wish to come as a failsafe."

Malroth growled slightly. "You're not—"

"I know," Damara cut him off with a stern look on her face that he'd never seen before. "Not going in with you. That said, should the _ worst _ happen, Zeligon will still need defeating. If we come in right after you, we'll have the best chance of finishing him off should you"–she swallowed heavily–"fail."

_ Let them come with you. _

Malroth suppressed his flinch at the voice, grinding his teeth together. _ Fuck off, _ he thought. He wondered if Esther or someone else around here knew how to do an exorcism. "Fine," he said aloud, accepting a plate of food from her. "I don't know how you'll know when he's killed me, but whatever."

They ate in silence, thinking on the future. There were many unpleasant endings compared to the one favorable outcome. Malroth wasn't sure which he'd rather entertain, knowing it was more likely he not survive in the majority of scenarios. Still, he'd go down as he lived, he supposed: protecting Crea in the thick of battle. He didn't think he'd mind that.

With breakfast finished and plates cleared away, he and Damara set out for the gate with their weapons slung across their backs. Ferrum was there waiting for them with her hammer, and fell in step with them as they left the fortress. The outside was quiet as they walked, a scattering of birdsong drifting on the breeze. The grass and the trees swayed pleasantly as they passed. Malroth imagined they were waving, but couldn't decide if they were waving encouragement for the hard road ahead or simply bidding them goodbye. He shook his head. He was getting weirdly sentimental. 

Approaching Brownbeard's ship, he eyed them warily from the hut he'd built for himself at the end of the pier. "Yar, this doesn't look good," he mumbled.

"We gotta go," Malroth commanded. "Crea's been kidnapped. I gotta rescue her."

"Blimey!" Brownbeard said, throwing his hands up. "I haven't seen you two sailing together since I docked here!"

"We don't have time for chit chat," Malroth growled.

"Er, yes. Aye." Brownbeard scuttled aboard under Malroth's withering gaze. Damara put a hand on Malroth's shoulder, reassuring and calming him. He took a deep breath before following onto the ship.

They had a chance to explain the situation with the Captain when they were en route, Damara pointing on Brownbeard's crayon map where a dock was likely to be in a different southern inlet. Brownbeard hadn't been thrilled with the idea that Malroth might die. Malroth himself didn't care. He was determined to save her, and _ nothing _ was going to stop him.

Even himself.

The thought made Crea's pendant feel heavier. He tried to ignore it.

It was turning out to be a long voyage around the coast, sailing against the wind on the way out of the bay. Malroth paced aimlessly on the deck, wishing he could get out and push. Or that he had reasonable confidence to scale the mountains that were in the way. 

"You're making me anxious," Brownbeard scolded once as he walked past. "Why ain't you up on the bow like usual?"

Malroth ignored him, pacing away.

"Malroth," Ferrum called.

He merely looked at her, the unsettled look reaching his eyes. She beckoned him over, patting the space next to her for him to come sit down. He hesitated but complied, stalked over before plopping down onto the deck next to her. Before he could ask she had shoved some wires into his hands, wordlessly urging him to do something with his pent up energy. He took them, pressing them between fingers and crunching them into balls. Eventually he settled enough to focus on braiding them, making several strands and then braiding the braids together. It was enough to calm his racing mind, for now. 

It took the whole day to sail to the other dock, the night looming as Brownbeard pulled up to stop at the pier. Malroth was off as soon as the ship stopped, striding with purpose towards the dead landscape. The land was uncharacteristically purple, with small poison swamps and dead trees in thick clumps as far as he could see. A path was worn down ahead of him, and he took it without another thought.

"Malroth!" Ferrum called. "Wait up!"

Malroth spun. "You should stay here," he grunted. "I don't want to take any chances."

"To hell with that," Ferrum spat. "We're getting as close as we can."

"Which is where?" he said. "How close is too close? You want to risk her fingers?"

"Laic is still a great deal inland," Damara said calmly. "You can let us come a little further."

Malroth pressed his lips in a thin line. "Fine," he said. "But as soon as we can see the place, you're stopping."

"Deal," the women said in unison.

So they walked. Malroth went in front, scanning the area for monsters or traps. Zeligon didn't _ seem _ like the type for underhanded methods like that, but he couldn't be too careful.

"Ferrum," Damara said quietly. "Do you actually… _ know _ anything about Laic?"

Ferrum thought for a moment. "Actually, now that you mention it, I don't have a clue. Why?"

She hummed. "Is suspicious."

"I mean, if Zeligon lives there now it can't have been that great to begin with," Ferrum snarked.

_ Or it got destroyed when we remade it, _ Malroth thought darkly. _ Did we imagine Zeligon into this then? Or did we superimpose a dead city on top of Laic and he just moved in? _

"Perhaps," Damara said. "But when we talk of Genola or Calor or Gelte we have some concept of what they were and what people did around them. I don't remember anything about Laic. What did they _ do? _ Did we really have no reason to trade or contact them ever?"

Ferrum grumbled. "You have a point," she said. "Especially since the easiest way to get here without a boat would be through Sessan."

"But you never saw anyone from Laic in all your years of living there?"

Ferrum's frown deepened. "You're making me nervous. What are you saying?"

"I don't know," Damara admitted. "Is just something… strange, about this place. Dangerous, maybe."

"You mean other than the main psychopathic monster that lives around here?" Ferrum scoffed, but her nervousness was apparent in her forced laugh.

It didn't make any of them feel any better. 

Still, they trudged on. The dead trees thickly lined each side of the path, occasionally opening into large swaths of poison swamps. The quagmires gurgled grossly as they passed, offering the only sound around in the barren land. Eventually they reached a large bridge, spanning a sludgy river that looked half poison, half regular water from the mountains. Malroth jumped up onto the stone handrail, trying to get a view over the tops of dead branches. 

He could easily see the far off watchtower of a town. 

"I see something," he said, clenching his hands into fists. "I think we're really close."

"Then we should rest for the night," Damara said, watching Malroth leap down from his vantage point. "Is late."

"I can't stop." Malroth shook his head. "I have to go. Now."

"But—"

"It's been long enough!" Malroth snapped. "I won't be able to rest anyway and you know that. Crea needs me and I'm not going to make her wait!" He turned and stomped off, leaving them behind. He hoped they would stay put and camp by the river. 

Following the path until it reached a bend, he stopped to view the city. It was still a way off, but it still felt like it was looming, somehow. Like it was bigger than it was supposed to be? He wasn't sure. A snapping sound cracked from behind him, and he rolled his eyes.

"I told you to stay put!" he shouted, turning.

The next words died in his throat, and he froze as his blood ran cold. Ferrum and Damara stood shoulder to shoulder, rigidly ambling towards him. At his voice they stopped, raising their heads simultaneously. Their eyes had turned black and they stared intently, watching him for something. His heart sank when he noticed their weapons in hand.

Malroth's gut told him to grab his hammer and to fight, but he hesitated. If they were possessed, as he suspected, then he couldn't just destroy with reckless abandon. Killing them like this would just… well, kill them. 

"Ferrum?" he said warily. "... Damara?"

The air felt heavy and thick around them, settling like a fog. The reluctance to fight weighed on him, an unfamiliar feeling that gnawed uncomfortably at his insides. Inwardly, he groaned. 

"Don't do it," Malroth whispered.

They lunged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the kind of chapter when you can really tell that my pacing is my biggest weakness. (but I justify it by telling myself, who wants to read that? nobody! just cruise on to the good stuff!)


	27. Clipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don't know who to fight anymore_   
_I don't know what is right anymore, anymore_
> 
> In which Malroth struggles to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With GFM hitting 100 comment threads (!!!), I just wanted to give a special and huge shoutout to all y'all for leaving comments and kudos and subscribing!!! There are a lot of you leaving responses to each chapter and I'm still blown away by how supportive everyone has been :D when I started posting I thought I'd get maybe two or three people to read thru to the end, but here we are, on the home stretch, with a lot more than two or three. XD
> 
> so, yeah. Huge thanks and hugs for being here. You guys make the journey worth it. <3

Malroth jumped out from under Ferrum's hammer, the blow sending dirt in all directions where he'd been standing a second before. Her black eyes followed him as he backed up, his hands up.

"Ferrum!" he tried. "Stop it!"

She growled, lunging again. Malroth ducked, her hammer swinging high. She kept swinging with no restraint, hammer flying back and forth. He could only think to dodge, his brain struggling to keep up with his stark change in style, consciously having to keep himself from grabbing his own hammer and hitting back at all the openings he saw. 

A root caught his foot and he stumbled, his back hitting square against a tree trunk. Ferrum yelled as she swung, but Malroth recovered just enough to dive out of the way. A sickening crunch filled the air, and splinters of wood rained on his back. He rolled, leaping to his feet and seeing Ferrum try to pull her hammer from the exploded trunk.

"Ferrum!" he yelled. "You're stronger than this! Fight back!"

An arrow whizzed past his ear, making him flinch at the noise and turn to look. Now that Damara had a clear shot at him, she was loading quickly. Malroth hesitated. He had even less experience against a bow.

Arrows started to fly in swift numbers, and he dodged as well as he could before ducking behind a tree. He felt a stick at his back and he reached around to grab it, finding instead it was an arrow caught in his hair. Malroth winced, ripping it out and throwing it aside. She was really good with that thing.

Ferrum roared at his side again and he jumped back, out of her way but in line with her body so Damara couldn't have a clear shot. Momentum carried Ferrum's hammer into this tree as well, sending woodchips in all directions. Malroth covered his face, stepping back out of her range. Her hammer was not stuck this time, and she easily lifted it from the leftover debris of the tree. She turned, her black eyes dilated wide. He hated how much the sight made him hesitate. Ferrum feinted but he saw it coming, instinctively leaping over her to get at her back. He landed as an arrow whistled past his ear, and he moved in time for another to graze his right arm. He grabbed his sleeve in surprise, and it was enough of a lapse in concentration for Ferrum's hammer to connect with the left side of his ribcage.

Sprawling away in the dirt, Malroth gasped at the pain as well as the sudden lack of air. He forced himself to roll onto all fours despite it, looking between Ferrum to his left, adjusting her hammer in her hands, and Damara on his right, her bow drawn and aimed.

"Good shot," he hissed, placing a hand on his side. That was surely going to bruise. It dulled slightly as a soft green light shone from beneath his chin. The herbs, he realized. He'd have rather saved them for the fight with Zeligon, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. Other than not get hit again, of course.

Malroth somehow _ felt _ the bow fire before it did, and he rolled to the side, the arrow embedding itself into the dirt. He wanted to sprint and try to disarm her, but his lungs still refused to cooperate. He winced, trying to catch his breath. 

_ How do I do this? _ he panicked, seeing Damara ready another arrow and Ferrum advance out of the corner of his eye. _ I don't know how to do nonlethal! _

Both women suddenly stood up rigidly, lowering their weapons and opening their mouths to speak at the same time. "I did warn you," their voices said, low and unnatural. "I said to come alone."

Malroth panted, worry pooling in his stomach. "They followed me," he said loudly, not knowing where Zeligon would be listening from. "They didn't listen!"

"Doesn't matter. Now you can have the pleasure of killing your friends before dying at my hands." Both laughed. "And I'll make sure your dear Crea sees it all."

"Don't you say her name!" Malroth snarled. "I'll rip your tongue out you try that again!"

"I look forward to it."

Ferrum and Damara's postures changed again, and they pulled their weapons back up in a ready position. Malroth inhaled deeply. His ribs still ached, but his lungs no longer wanted to defy his orders to breathe. He looked between the two, a vague idea coming to his mind.

Dashing from his position, he darted forward, catching Damara off guard and making her shot fly wide. Malroth veered sharply, running straight at her. She didn't have enough time to reload. Pulling his hammer from his back, he jumped, the weapon trailing behind him as he prepared to smash it down. Damara raised her bow in an attempt to redirect his blow, moving back out of the way at the same time.

Malroth allowed himself a triumphant yell. He had hoped for this. Swinging wide, he brought his hammer down, glancing off the polished wood in her hand. The wood cracked loudly, haphazardly splitting where his hammer caught it. The halves each hung by the string, making Damara freeze and stare at it.

"Clever," she whispered, her own voice barely audible even to Malroth's acute hearing. Then her eyes fluttered, her irises rolling back into her head as she collapsed. 

"Useless," Zeligon's voice came from Ferrum's mouth. "She cannot fight if her bow is broken, and even when it wasn't she cared too strongly to target you properly."

Malroth turned, raising his hand to support his side and holding his hammer in the other. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing yet," Ferrum smiled cruelly. "But don't worry. I'll take care of her after I deal with you. You can only run and dodge for so long, vessel. Especially now that I only have to keep track of one fighter."

Malroth grit his teeth. "Then let me come fight you instead, you coward!"

Laughter echoed from around him this time, rather than just from Ferrum's mouth. "And pass on such an opportunity? Oh no. I think I shall enjoy this."

Ferrum slumped again, her smile fading. Malroth brought his hammer up in front of him, holding the head in his hand to use it like a shield. He tried to prepare, thinking quickly. If disarming Damara had forced Zeligon to relinquish his control, maybe doing the same with Ferrum would stop her. But her hammer was made to withstand breaking. Malroth frowned. _ How can I—? _

Ferrum lunged, swiping at Malroth's hammer. He deflected it easily, pushing it off to the side and into the dirt. His mind zeroed in on her open side, and he consciously battled himself to keep from swinging back. He was stronger than her, he knew. Humans were so much more fragile than monsters, as his own aching ribs helpfully reminded him. It would only take one hit for him to probably kill her. 

Another swing, another deflection, another opening. Malroth grunted at the jolt sent up his arm, gritting his teeth. _ I have to get the hammer away from her. _

At her next swing, Malroth pushed his own hammer towards her, trying to hook the handle on any part of her weapon. It bounced off the shaft and Ferrum backed away for a brief moment.

"Finally fighting back, are you?" Ferrum growled, her voice not her own but not Zeligon's either. "Dross. You're only a remnant. A shell of a greater purpose."

"Shut up," Malroth growled.

"Are you running from yourself?" She chuckled, her deep, throaty voice taunting him. "Hiding from the knowledge that you lived because of your own stubbornness? Your own unwillingness to accept your fate?" She licked her lips, drawling her next words. "That you knowingly ran from your purpose?"

"I said shut _ up!"_ Malroth yelled, taking his hammer properly in his hands and throwing his weight behind his swing. Ferrum wasn't as quick as Damara, but she managed to sidestep the attack.

"You'll have to kill me, Malroth," Ferrum said, delighted. "Or are you going to try to run from this too?"

Ten ways to hit her filled his mind, but he focused on keeping his feet anchored to the ground to stop himself in his murderous haze. "Who are you," he muttered. "How do you know about any of that?"

"You haven't figured it out?" She laughed darkly. "I am _ you."_

Malroth hesitated, watching in horror as the shadows of her face twisted into a darkened version of his own. Blackened eyes glowed with red outlines, wispy shadows of smoke circling around Ferrum's head to imitate his hair. His reflection smiled.

"I will bring you to your purpose," she said, bringing her hammer up near her chest.

In a flurry of movement he didn't expect from Ferrum, she attacked. Malroth fended off as best he could, still distracted by his own face. One of her strikes clipped his finger and he yelped in surprise, instinctively pulling his hand back. Ferrum lunged in his brief distraction, thrusting her hammer straight at his chest. She misjudged the distance, pushing him back rather than bashing as intended. Malroth stepped back, grabbing his hammer again. Blood coursed through his arms, urging him to fight and destroy. But he knew Ferrum was in there, even behind the mask of his own face. She growled, withdrawing her hammer and rearing back for a massive slam, both arms high above her head.

_ There. _

He didn't have enough time to react to the voice guiding him, but still easily sidestepped the telegraphed move. When her hammer hit the dirt, Malroth planted his foot on the head of the weapon, his strength and weight keeping it there. Ferrum pulled on it to no avail, trying to pull it out from under him. Malroth used his hammer to forcefully push her away, making her stumble. He stared Ferrum down with a challenge, taking a hammer in each of his hands. 

Ferrum smiled viciously. "You think that will stop me?" she growled. "I will kill you with my bare hands!"

She leapt towards him, hands outstretched. Reacting quickly, Malroth flung the hammers away, lining up with her body. As soon as she was within arms reach, he grabbed her shoulders and spun with her momentum, forcing her to fall past him as her body twisted midair. Her back hit the ground and Malroth was atop her instantly, pinning her to the ground with his hands at her throat.

Scrabbling at his wrists, his dark image laughed beneath him. "Can you do it?" she wheezed. "Can you kill me? Force the shadows from me and run from yourself again?" 

Malroth growled, his grasp tightening.

"You'll never amount to anything," she cackled breathlessly. "Your usefulness came to an end with Lord Malroth."

"I chose my own destiny," he scowled, tears pricking at his eyes as he crushed her windpipe. The shadows slipped away, leaving Ferrum's bulging eyes to stare up at him. She clawed at his hands, terrible choking noises forcing themselves from her lips. Malroth was grateful his vision was clouding at his tears, keeping him from seeing too much of her desperation while being strangled. Eventually her movements slowed, her eyes squeezed shut in defeat, and she finally went limp beneath him.

Malroth lifted his hands as soon as she stilled, seeing the dark marks starting to appear around her neck. Her chest started to rapidly rise and fall, and he exhaled sharply. _Passed out._ He'd managed to keep control enough not to make a fatal mistake. Chuckling suddenly echoed around him.

"Well then," Zeligon's voice reached him, sounding delighted. "You defeated my magic. Did you enjoy it?"

Malroth growled, standing. "Your tricks are cheap, you bastard. Fight me with your own strength."

"It didn't look like I needed to," he hummed. "Your shade seemed to be doing well enough on its own. What were those things it said, hmm? Something about running from your purpose?" The Shaman laughed. "Are we a little insecure about our choices, dear vestige?"

"Where's Crea?" Malroth demanded, doing his best to ignore the needling.

"Safe with me. For now. Why not come and see for yourself?" His laughter faded away. 

Malroth grumbled, looking down at Ferrum by his feet. She looked simply terrible. He was certain Damara didn't look much better. He sighed, bending down to carry her in his arms. At least he could take them somewhere safe first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps. someone asked about fanart (??!?) and the answer is yes. unequivocally. if this inspired you to make any kind of art, feel free to share with me! because I will love you even more forever. :D


	28. Northern Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You can break my heart and crush my dreams_   
_But you can never take my soul_   
_You can crack my stones and melt my steel_   
_But you can never take my soul_
> 
> In which Malroth is tested.

Back at the bridge, the goopy water trickled pleasantly despite looking repulsive. Carrying the women would have been a struggle for anyone else, but not for him. Not with his sheer strength. It was also sheer luck that he hadn't managed to kill them both. Ferrum especially. Still, he set them up as best he could. Damara stirred after he set her down, groaning as she sat up. 

"Malroth?" she mumbled, holding her head. "What happened? I thought you left."

He consciously had to unclench his jaw. "I tried."

Damara stared blankly, not understanding. "Then why—?"

"You got possessed or something," Malroth said curtly. "I had to fight you and Ferrum. I broke your bow." He pointed at its remains nearby. "Sorry."

Damara blinked. "Ah."

"I _ told _ you to stay behind," he growled. "I nearly had to kill Ferrum to get her to stop."

Damara blanched. 

"I'm going," Malroth said, standing and adjusting the hammer on his back. "So _ stay. Here. _ Make sure Ferrum doesn't choke on her tongue or whatever. Oh, and I'm borrowing her hammer." He began to walk off, climbing the bridge.

"Malroth!" Damara called.

He stopped, inclining his head. 

"Please be careful," she said.

He snorted, turning to make eye contact with her. "Why?" 

For once, Damara was lost for words as he scoffed and kept going. 

The shade had bothered him more than he cared to admit. It honestly terrified him to hear it put so bluntly, the way it so callously described his greatest fear without even being aware of it in words for himself. A remnant, a shell, running from his original purpose– was it so selfish to want to live? When in the middle of defeating Hargon and his own monster form, he had been so _ sure. _ Creating his own destiny with the most experienced builder in their world seemed like the perfect solution. But now… now he wondered if that was ever right at all. He wondered if it were possible for destiny to be reaching out for him now, trying to claim what it had been denied in Malhalla.

What if there really was never anything more for him than to die? 

What if there was no destiny to create for himself? Could he be satisfied with that if he could avoid death here? Could he ignore himself forever to help Crea with hers, maybe? Surely she had a destiny, even if he didn't. Was it possible to even have a destiny beyond what she'd already accomplished? 

Malroth pulled the locket out at the thought of her, noting with relief that it hadn't been damaged. He turned it over in his hands, admiring and appreciating the craftsmanship of his own work. It calmed him, even with the dread that settled on his shoulders and in his stomach like a stone. Perhaps his destiny was simply to save her. Save her at all costs, even if it meant his own life. He could do that much. Damara's voice tried to echo in his mind, saying his life was worth just as much, but he waved it off. Crea was more important to him, regardless of his self-worth.

The fortress was imposing, just as Malroth expected. The tall front gate was blown open, revealing a wide courtyard stained purple. He approached warily, the gravel crunching softly as he crept inside. Deserted skeletons of buildings hugged the inner walls, debris and dead foliage scattered around like discarded bones. In the middle of the courtyard there was a small platform with what looked like the tattered remains of an old yellowed banner. At the back of the stronghold was the biggest building of them all, raised above the rest with blown out stained glass windows along the exterior. Malroth glowered, skirting around the courtyard to the stairs. Zeligon would surely be there.

Malroth hurried through the empty streets and ran up the stairs two at a time. From the outside it looked like it might be a chapel, though he supposed it might be a throne room too. Either way, the iron doors shuddered horribly as he pushed them open, staying warily alert for whatever was waiting inside. It barely prepared him for the waiting strike aimed at his head.

The strike moved enough in his periphery that he leapt away. His heart sunk deep as he landed to get a good look at the new threat. 

Similar to the shade he fought outside, an ethereal black mist had formed to look like Crea. Unseeing black eyes glared at him, a makeshift version of her hammer at her side. Unlike his shade, though, hers had no host. Malroth vaguely wondered how it would hurt if it didn't have anything solid backing it up.

As if sensing his question, the shade moved. Instinctively he backed away from it, retreating further into the hall. She seemed to swing halfheartedly, as though merely trying to shepherd him. At one particularly lackluster swing, Malroth reached out to touch the hammer as it passed by.

The shadows passed through his fingers like water, but everywhere that it touched felt like electric fire. It was intense but nondescript, shooting mere pain throughout his fingers. Malroth yelped, pulling his hand back to cradle it against his chest. 

"Do you like it?"

Malroth looked to see Zeligon now, standing at the back of the large room. Crea was still trapped in the blue glow, her face still frozen in surprise with her mouth wide open. Black wisps clung to her feet, dissipating towards the floor. The shade's source, he guessed. 

"I thought it fitting," Zeligon continued. "You came for her, after all. Why not let her image destroy you?"

"Fight me yourself!" Malroth yelled, flexing feeling back into his fingers. 

The Shaman chuckled. "Ah, of course. Like how you gave Lord Malroth the same privilege, to fight you one at a time."

Malroth narrowed his eyes, growling. "How do you know about that?"

"Is your imagination so boring you can't figure it out?" Zeligon mocked. "Please. All I require is one touch of her skin and I have access to all the memories I could ever dream of. That's why I sought her out to begin with– to validate your claims."

He glared at him silently, swearing further revenge for invading like that.

"And to lure you here, of course. That was easy. It is touching, though," he added, a sly smirk growing on his features. "Just how much she pities you."

Malroth's heart froze painfully in his chest. Pity? For…? The implications struck him all at once as his mind filtered quickly through memories, searching for proof. But all he could picture was her face, thrown back in joyful laughter.

But if the Shaman had access to her memories, then surely…?

"You lie," Malroth snarled, cutting off the thought.

"Do I?" Zeligon's smirk grew. "Are you sure? You could just be lying to yourself. She's too kind to tell anybody 'no' after all. Isn't she? You've complained to her about that very thing before."

"That doesn't prove it," he challenged, trying to draw on more confidence than he felt. The monster was just feeding on his insecurities, right? That didn't mean—

"Ask her yourself," Zeligon chuckled darkly. "Your shade spoke truth to you, after all."

Malroth looked back to the shade, who stood firmly in her glare back to him. He really didn't want to ask, so he drew his hammer from his shoulder instead. 

"Coward," Zeligon jeered. "She'll never tell you the truth if you manage to save her."

"At least I'm not hiding behind shadows and magic," Malroth snapped.

"Perhaps," the Shaman conceded. "But what will you hide behind when you _ are _ confronted with the truth? Or will you just run, as all the times before?" He sneered.

"Less talking!" Malroth yelled, running at him. The shade appeared in front of him suddenly and he forced himself to grind to a halt, Zeligon laughing behind her figure. 

"Very well," he said, his staff glowing red. "Let us hasten your demise!"

Crea's shade darted forward, throwing Malroth off balance as he stumbled backwards. He recovered enough to swing his hammer at her attack, but it passed through harmlessly, making him stagger with the momentum. Her swing barely clipped through his elbow and he yelled in pain, his whole arm twitching as he struggled to keep hold of his weapon. Already panting, Malroth regarded her carefully, observing her stance and anything that might give him a way to fight back. But a red glow out of the corner of his eye interrupted his thoughts, and he registered it just in time for it to collide with his side.

Sprawling now, the heat of the spell erupted across his skin, singeing his sleeves. Malroth had no time to recover from that before he saw Crea above him, her hammer falling towards his head. He rolled blindly, hearing the stone break where he had just been. He twisted up into a crouching position, patting at the receding heat on his arm, ready to run. 

Observing the layout of the room, Crea advanced slowly, her expression largely the same. Zeligon was grinning widely on the raised platform behind her, watching with particular interest as his staff cycled through a variety of colors. Malroth grimaced. _ How am I supposed to stop her if I can't hit her? _

Crea lunged forward again, and he dived to the side. She followed, chasing him in a cruel game of keep away. Malroth panted, his concentration struggling as he kept jumping out of her reach. He'd never had to do so much thinking in fights before.

_ The staff. _

The voice in his head made him flinch in surprise, but he looked at the suggestion anyway. It clicked in his mind. If he destroyed the staff, he'd destroy the shade, as well as Zeligon's control over the real Crea. Malroth exhaled. It was worth a shot. He hoped his hammer could withstand the blast this time.

Dodging out of the way of the shade's attacks, Malroth sprinted to Zeligon, his hammer ready to strike at his side. The Shaman seemed to watch him eagerly, allowing Malroth to approach. Alarms set off in his mind at this, but he was too committed to stop now. Yelling, Malroth began his swing, right as Zeligon's staff turned a bright yellow.

A thunderbolt launched from the crystal, catching Malroth and launching him back several feet, forcing him to his knees. The wind was knocked from his lungs, and he gasped, feeling his body twitch and flinch at the electricity surging through his blood. Malroth tried to stand, but he felt paralyzed, overwhelmed by the spell. He could only watch as Crea's shade walked purposefully in front of him, crouching down in front of him as though to look into his eyes. Panting and wheezing, he saw a somehow firmer look cross her face before leaning forward to pass through his entire body with her shadow.

To describe it as pure agony was an understatement. Not only was the fizzling electrocution settling in his lungs, but the overwhelming pain and pressure of what felt like a million needles pressed at every inch of his skin. He fell to the ground, unable to keep himself upright at the writhing spasms that overtook his every muscle. His skin felt like it was trying to rip itself apart with the pressure and pain, and his heart hammered against his ribcage like a terrified animal. White-hot heat seared into every crevice and fold of his body, and unconscious tears spilled without warning.

Malroth knew he was dying.

He screamed. He couldn't help it. It was all he could do against the strain of the new levels of torment he was feeling. Not even just the pain of the spell and shade and whatever else that was, but the devastating realization that he had failed.

He had lost.

Suddenly, all of the pain evaporated at once, leaving him motionless and weeping in a ball on the floor. He could feel his consciousness fading, his body shutting down. Zeligon stopped in front of him, bending down to whisper at the pathetic mess at his feet with a wicked smirk.

"Goodbye, remnant of Lord Malroth."


	29. Superpower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know, I know_   
_You are unstoppable_   
_You show, you show_   
_That anything is possible_   
_I know, I know that every time you go_   
_You'll come back stronger_   
_Your love will save the day_
> 
> In which Malroth lives or dies.

Malroth could only watch as Zeligon stood back up, aiming his staff just inches from Malroth's nose. Air was stuck in his throat as he came face to face with death, the staff beginning to glow a sickly yellow-green. A soft, calming blue shone from beneath Malroth's chin, and he instantly felt all the parts of his body with astounding clarity. He knew that glow, and this feeling. He'd seen it once before.

_ Yggdrasil… dew…? _

His mind was still racing to keep up with the healing warmth spreading through his body, but all he really knew was that he needed to act quickly.

Malroth grabbed the staff, pushing it up out of his face. Zeligon recoiled in alarm, the spell firing at the stone behind Malroth's head, shattering it. Malroth yanked at the staff, pulling it easily from the startled shaman's hands. Twisting away, he rolled to his feet, taking the staff in both hands as he took measured steps backwards.

"Not today," he growled.

"How?!" Zeligon demanded. "That was all more than enough to kill any normal human! And some!"

Malroth grinned. "Too bad I'm not a normal human." He took the staff and raised it behind him, swinging the crystal into the ground with as much strength as he could muster.

Zeligon screamed, pointing at the staff, ordering Crea's shade to interfere. Malroth focused all his energy at smashing the crystal, the gem bouncing harmlessly off the stone floor. The shade passed through him again, but the lingering dew in his veins dulled the effects, only handfuls of pins and needles poking at his exposed skin this time. Malroth dropped the staff, planted his foot on it, and pulled Ferrum's hammer from his back in a smooth motion. Zeligon's screeching amplified, a spell growing between his palms. Malroth didn't notice, instead taking the hammer and smashing it down with phenomenal force, squeezing his eyes shut as it collided with the staff.

The space was immediately swallowed by a bright light and a shockwave, forcing Malroth back from the point of impact. He covered his face, keeping a firm grip on the hammer as he bounced across the stone floor, tumbling to a stop some distance away. He looked up at the following silence, the light fading quickly.

The crystal had shattered into a thousand pieces across the stone floor.

Looking back across the room, the first thing Malroth saw was Crea's shade, steadily blowing away like smoke from newly extinguished candle. It was unsettling, he thought, how neutral her expression was as her form disappeared. The second thing he noticed was Zeligon, wordlessly shaking with rage while staring at his broken staff. Malroth knew he could still use magic without it, so the threat was far from over. The third thing was Crea herself, sinking through the air as though through water, the blue glow around her dissipating as she settled gently on her back. 

His attention was quickly drawn elsewhere before he could give it much thought.

"You," Zeligon threatened lowly. His voice growled through clenched teeth, his pitch and volume rising in frenzy as he advanced slowly towards him. "You will pay for your insolence, you inferior, _ insufferable _ little—!"

Before he could raise the hammer to defend himself, Zeligon had cast a spell, a red-hot sphere exploding on Malroth's arm. He yelped, twisting away from the heat and trying to pat down the fire that licked at his sleeves. Zeligon was quick with his rage, already casting a jagged ice spell that connected with Malroth's other side, making him hiss in pain as shards of ice rained around him. Zeligon stopped his slow advance, pausing to channel some yellow energy between mirrored palms. Malroth scrambled upright, pain returning now that the Yggdrasil dew had completed its job pushing him away from death's door.

"I may not be able to resurrect Hargon or Lord Malroth," the Shaman yelled, the size of the spell in his hands growing visibly larger by the second. "But I can avenge them by destroying this world's savior!" Pushing his hands forward, massive bolts of electricity arced through the air.

Malroth himself felt the world move in slow motion, uneven fingers of electric current coursing through the air with terrifying speed. His eyes went wide, unable to do much of anything other than brace himself and watch the beautifully deadly attack as it closed in.

_ Swing! _

Malroth gripped Ferrum's hammer tightly between both hands and swung, doing as he was told. The translucent shield appeared just as the spell was about to hit him, redirecting the spell to bounce away and blast against the wall. He breathed heavily, looking at the fractured stone. He'd forgotten about the redirection. His aim clearly needed work, but he could live with that.

_ Heh. _ He grinned. _ Live. I'm funny. _

"That _ infernal _ woman!" Zeligon cursed, already preparing another spell. "I should've killed her when I had the chance!"

"There's a lot of things you should've done," Malroth called, adjusting his grip on Ferrum's hammer. "Like give up!"

Zeligon scowled, the spell in his hands separating into two orbs that he held in upturned palms. "You first, you miserable wretch," he spat, hurling the spells on his last word.

Malroth hit them away, missing with his redirection again. Both of his sides were starting to bother him again, shooting pain through his chest as he swung. He wouldn't be able to keep this up for too long. 

But Zeligon's onslaught felt endless, hurling spell after unrestrained spell. Malroth didn't know what the secret was to aiming the spells back, but he was at least grateful he wasn't sustaining any more lasting damage. His stamina, on the other hand, was starting to fade. And fast.

Zeligon paused after a time, breathing heavily as he eyed his opponent. Malroth took the chance to lean on the hammer for support, clutching his aching ribs. He was getting so tired.

"You are fading," Zeligon smirked between breaths. "It is clear. Would you not wish to simply end your suffering?"

"Not by your hand," Malroth scowled. "I go on my own terms."

"That is not a luxury you have, faithless whelp," Zeligon said, the yellow-green spell from before growing between his hands. "Allow me to assist!"

For a brief moment, Malroth entertained the idea of just letting it end. He was tired, after all. And Zeligon had no interest in Crea once he was dead. She was clever; she could defeat the Shaman without him. But all these thoughts fell away when he realized it was Crea flying through the air behind Zeligon, Malroth's hammer in her outstretched arms, eyes glinting dangerously as she angled to bring her strike down squarely on his head.

With the spell fizzling into the air, Zeligon shrieked in pain and surprise at the sturdy blow. Crea used her momentum to flip over the Shaman, landing on her feet between him and Malroth. She had never looked more fierce, staring Zeligon down as he writhed to adjust the mask on his face.

Malroth had never seen a more beautiful sight. Relief coursed through him as he stumbled to his knees, his pain dulling as he focused on her intensity. They could do this together. He was sure.

"Do not touch him," she growled, hammer firm in her grip and ready to swing.

"Insolent cretin!" Zeligon howled, charging more spells in both hands. "You humans will pay!"

"Try me!" Crea shouted. Malroth simply watched, gathering his strength to try to stand. The soreness of fighting was catching up to him.

Zeligon roared, slinging small spells with reckless abandon, Crea batted them effortlessly, the majority of her shots hitting the Shaman back as evidenced by the small holes left behind in his cloak. He didn't seem to notice however, blinded by his fury and vengeance. Crea watched intently, keeping a close eye on the spells and his overall demeanor. It was only when his cloak was riddled with so many rips and tears that inky tendrils of vapor started to spill from each hole, evaporating into the air around him. Zeligon began to slow at that. Malroth managed to stagger to his feet, feeling the call of something big. There was one last thing to do. 

Zeligon slowed enough that he stopped slinging spells, gasping for breath and looking down at the hole-ridden fabric. He wheezed, looking up to cast another murderous glance with all of the energy he had left.

"Malroth!" Crea yelled. "Throw me!"

With a surge of adrenaline, Malroth ran to her, grasping at her hips and throwing as she commanded with all of his strength. She angled masterfully, lining the hammer up with Zeligon's mask as she arched through the air. Malroth leapt after her, focusing as well as he could to follow her hammer with his own. He heard Crea yell, and he echoed her, their hammers finally landing in tandem against the Shaman's motionless form.

In what seemed to be a long moment, Malroth had to remind himself to breathe, the shattering mask flying in all directions, revealing a gaping void where Zeligon's face ought to be. Momentum carried them over the monster's body, Crea landing on her feet and turning to look. Malroth wasn't so lucky, not having the energy to self-right himself in the air and bounced along the stone for a few feet. He forced himself up on his elbow despite this, watching with morbid curiosity. 

Zeligon's body swayed, the black vapors still pouring from each hole in his robe. In a sudden moment, the hood belched a frothy purple smoke, the cloak deflating a bit as it did. A high pitched squeal caught their ears, and suddenly the cloak ripped open, the spirited remains of the monster bursting in several pieces before evaporating for good. Crea exhaled as the fabric settled peacefully to the floor, watching it for an extra moment to make sure he was actually dead. When stillness and silence convinced her, she turned, smiling broadly back at her companion. 

Her smile faltered as she watched him stagger to his feet, using the hammer as leverage to push himself up. Malroth teetered and stumbled, glanced up long enough to look into her eyes, and then immediately paled, crashing limply back to the stone floor. Crea bolted to his side, cradling his head on her arm as she lifted him to look at his face. 

"Malroth?" she asked, smoothing her thumb on his face. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He coughed slightly, wheezing. "M' fine," he said, his words slurring together. She wasn't convinced.

"Hey, what—" She glanced down, her eyes going wide at the huge gash in his side, blood seeping into his jacket. "Oh Goddess above, Malroth! You're bleeding!"

He looked down, nodding nonchalantly as he caught view of the blood. _ That explains the tired. _

Crea yanked her scarf from her neck, lifting his shirt and pushing it firmly into his side. He grimaced, making a discomforted sound as she pressed against the open wound, doing her best to stem the bleeding. 

"Crea," he mumbled.

"Shhh," she soothed, trying to hide the panic in her voice. "It's alright, I've got you. Stay with me, 'kay?"

"Crea," he said, firmer, pressing at her hand. "I think it's too late."

The panic grew evident in her features, but she masterfully kept her voice steady. "Don't talk like that," she scolded. "We just... have to let you rest. You'll be fine, don't you always tell me that? You'll see."

"Crea," he repeated, wincing aloud at a random pain that shot through his side. He let his arm fall, reaching into his pocket.

"You stay with me, Malroth," she said, still pressing her scarf into his wound. It had already soaked through with blood. "You can stay awake with me, right? Don't sleep on me, okay? Malroth?"

Malroth pressed his hand to hers, metal squeezing against her skin under his grip. She turned her hand over and he dropped the pendant in her waiting palm, then dutifully put his hand back over her scarf. Crea stared at it for a long moment, confusion and panic and awe all freezing her. She finally looked up at his face, and he smiled through labored breaths, his skin paler than ever.

"Put it on?" he said.

"But—"

"Please," he added.

She hesitated, but did as he asked, slipping the large chain over her head. The pendant settled against her chest. Malroth hummed in approval, taking it between his fingers so he could look at it.

"Remember that I love you," he whispered. 

"No no no no!" she shouted, realizing he was trying to say goodbye. She pressed her hand against his side. "Stay with me! Don't you dare sleep! Keep your eyes open!"

"Crea," he sighed, the air rattling in his throat. His eyelids were starting to sink over exhausted eyes. "Thank you for believing in me."

"Malroth!" she sobbed. "Please, don't do this. Please!"

Malroth's eyes closed with a gentle smile, his head falling against her chest. His body went limp a short moment later, his lungs still struggling desperately for air.

Crea couldn't hear herself scream, despair ripping her throat raw, tasting blood as she pleaded his name to any god or goddess that would listen.

It felt like drowning.

No, this was worse than drowning. It was suffocating. The way the pressure mounted in her sternum, the way her throat constricted and burned against her silent screams, the way every part of her body _ ached _ with a sudden heaviness– it was torment. And she could do nothing. Nothing but cradle Malroth in her arms, rocking back and forth as she tried to breathe, her exhales escaping her like hisses. Crea hugged him awkwardly, draping her arm across his chest and leaning next to his face, listening to his shallow gasps as he slowly slipped away. Knowing he wasn't quite gone was somehow worse. He was still so close, and yet gone. She clutched the pendant in her palm, the sharp corners digging into her skin. Crea kind of hoped it would draw blood, in the end. Anything to relieve this pressure.

He was dying.

And she could do _ nothing. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note on the Yggdrasil dew- I know it's supposed to be a full health restore. However, given that its infused in metal, it's not going to work the same/nearly as effectively. Given the end of the chapter you can tell why I needed it to not work right. 👍


	30. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If you say goodbye,_   
_My heart's in trouble_
> 
> In which Malroth speaks with the voice in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will openly admit I'm taking a LOT of artistic liberty with this chapter. Hope it sticks the landing!

It was surprisingly quiet when Malroth opened his eyes, but he quickly shut them again. _Too bright,_ he thought. Even behind closed eyes the light was too intense. He slowly opened his eyes a moment later as he sat up, squinting in small increments as he took careful stock of his body. His clothes were several shades lighter than he remembered them, almost giving off a transparent feeling. As far as his body was concerned, everything felt fine, which confused him. Malroth patted his sides. Didn't he bleed out? Where was the gash? The pain? Or the bruise from Ferrum's hammer? Or… anything? He didn't even feel tired. Puzzled, he looked up to take in the view.

The world around him was a soft white, nothing of note within his field of vision. He turned, looking over his shoulder– nothing there either. Malroth rubbed his arms, noting that he too somehow felt very soft under his own touch.

_ Where am I? _ he wondered. _ Have I… died and gone to heaven? Or… _

Malroth shivered, forcing the rest of that thought out of his mind. He sighed, looking around again. 

"The sky is such a strange color," he murmured out of habit.

"Malroth."

He whipped around at the voice, recognizing it as the same one that had infiltrated his thoughts the last few days. A golden glowing ball hovered above a newly materialized stone platform, twinkling pleasantly. It's shape elongated and lengthened randomly, but always returned to its original shape. 

"You were in my head," Malroth said, an undertone in his voice giving the slightest hint of a threat.

"Yes," it said, its voice changing as it spoke. "But even before I could speak to your mind, I have been with you for a long time."

Malroth blinked. "Wait," he said, rising to his feet. "Hela?"

The ball shone brightly, its form changing to that of a personage, the face still obscured by light. Whoever it was wore a white robe, their hands hidden with the sleeves in front of their waist. "Essentially," they said.

_ Essentially?! _ Malroth scowled. "I'm tired of your games!" he shouted, pointing accusingly at the figure. "I need answers. Who are you, and what do you want? And why are you always in my head?"

A bright light overtook his senses as he tried to glimpse their face, making him wince and look away. When the light receded he looked back, the sight making his breath catch tightly in his throat.

Before him stood a woman, tall and plain but beautiful somehow too. Her white flowing robes framed her nicely, and her hands were still hidden in the sleeves at her waist. Her eyes were soft but neutral, her expression not giving anything away. There was something terribly important about her, but not something Malroth knew. He could only _ feel _ it.

"My child," she said, her voice soft and firm, but different from the others he'd heard so far.

"What?" Malroth's head was already starting to spin. _"Your _ child? Since when?"

"Since the beginning," she said.

"Would you just talk straightforward?" he grumbled. "Just who _ are _ you?"

Light brightened around her hood like a halo. "I am the voice that has accompanied you these last days, watching over you. I am Hela, the holy one, bringing light to dark places. I beget creation from destruction, and destruction follows me." A clever smile pulled at her mouth. "I am the Creator."

Malroth felt something squeeze at his heart, though he wasn't sure if it was awe or trepidation or something else entirely. "Y-you're…" He hesitated. "Rubiss?"

She smiled in affirmation. 

Malroth exhaled, long and drawn out as an avalanche of questions swirled in his mind. _ Rubiss. _ He hoped for so many answers.

"Before we get to that," she said, as though reading his thoughts. "There is something I must ask, and a choice that you must make. It is… time-sensitive. But then I will make way to have yours questions answered."

Malroth tried to steady his breathing. "Promise?" he asked.

Rubiss smiled. "Of course, child."

"Alright," he said, satisfied. "Then… what choice is this?"

"As you have assisted in creating this world, you are now aware of the multiple worlds that exist in parallel to each other. Correct?"

He nodded.

"What you may not know is multiple versions of the same person will sometimes appear in both realms," Rubiss explained, her face returning neutral. "This is particularly prevalent in Moonbrooke, as you may have guessed with someone like the King who remembers his own death and other assorted memories of his other life. But other such variations exist in different capacities."

"What are you getting at?" Malroth asked, wary about how much lead in this was getting. 

Rubiss studied him carefully. "I'm 'getting at' your other life."

His throat constricted, catching him off guard. He'd had a life outside of Hargon. What was he like? The same as here? Was he still strong? Did he have friends? A proper childhood? Or—

"Family?" he squawked, his voice getting caught on the tightness in his throat.

Rubiss held out her hands, a large golden ring appearing between them. Malroth recognized it as the window-like ring he'd seen when he was trapped in his curse, showing the outside world. He crept closer, eyeing it carefully. When he was within arm's reach, it reflected outwards, images appearing within the mirror. He peered in carefully.

It was a warm, wooden house. Thick afternoon summer sunlight poured in from the large windows, illuminating the room. A woman with long dark hair sat at the table, knitting. Her hair was thick and poofy, just like his, but her features were overall softer than his angled jaw or nose. His mother, he presumed. The door burst open suddenly, two young boys careening through the room so fast Malroth couldn't get a good look at them. Instead he focused on the man that came in after them, his hard jaw just like his own. This man had dark hair too, trimmed short that showcased the firm look in his eyes. Well, Malroth thought they were firm, but also forgiving. He'd weirdly hoped that was how others saw his eyes, at least, but his eyes were also blood red. He doubted it.

Focusing on the boys now, Malroth watched carefully until they paused long enough to get a good look at them. One was clearly bigger than the other, and older, he guessed. Dark hair again prominent, matching his father's hairstyle but blended with the soft features of his mother. He looked happy. The smaller boy made Malroth stare.

It was almost like seeing his own reflection at first, but small differences made themselves apparent the longer he looked. Thick dark hair was pulled back behind his head, though the twin cowlicks Malroth sported here were nonexistent there. The ears and eyes were rounder, but the general shape of his body was the same. He wondered if other-him would have the same strength when he was older. 

The boys resumed wrestling and Malroth exhaled. He had a family after all. Kind of.

"Do you desire it?" Rubiss asked gently. 

He wanted to say yes, to fling himself inside and learn all he could about this new world. To ask if he would remember where he came from, or what the merging of personalities would be like. Instead, his voice died on his tongue, pulling him into a familiar feeling of something important. 

Something missing.

Malroth took a deep breath. "What am I giving up if I choose it?"

Rubiss smiled, clearly pleased he had asked. The image in the mirror darkened, changing to reflect what he feared he would see. 

The castle was dark, in stark contrast to the warm cabin just moments before. His heart sank deep in his chest, seeing Crea slumped over his mangled body, holding his face next to her head as she cried. He hadn't realized just how big the gash was on his side, seeing it run longer and wider than the length of his hand. Malroth felt guilt prick at his heart, yearning to fix it.

"This is the choice you must make," Rubiss said softly.

Malroth's throat ran dry, the images through the glass changing so he could view both at the same time. He felt selfish and guilty, wanting them both. Leaning forward, he pressed his hands against the glass. There was no doubt he loved Crea, but the appeal of having somewhere to inherently belong was overwhelmingly strong. The appeal of having a life outside of Hargon especially, to be maybe a little less different than everyone around him. To have a past. To have a better understanding of who he was and where he came from. Not having to live in fear of the next struggle, or the monsters and demons from his waking nightmares. 

But he knew this impossible choice was not so impossible after all.

"I pick her," he whispered. "I have to go back to her."

In his mind, he always knew he would always go back to her. No matter how far or how long, he would _always_ choose her. 

"Are you certain?" Rubiss asked, her steady gaze watching him carefully.

Malroth nodded, touching at Crea's image on the glass. "But… can I ask?"

"Of course."

"Am I happy?"

Rubiss chuckled, knowing he asked about the other life. "Yes. However, there is always a sense of something missing. An empty feeling. One that you cannot fill in that world. The life is fulfilling enough, and you are _ happy, _ but the empty feeling lingers and is never satisfied."

Malroth looked up at the Goddess' face, who smiled down at him. 

"Essentially," she explained gently. "You have now chosen to have belonging ahead of you rather than behind you."

_ Belonging ahead of me? _ His gaze dropped back down to Crea's face. "I don't understand," he said.

"I know," she said. "But you will soon. For now, however, you have someone waiting for you."

Malroth nodded while looking at the warm cabin one last time, trying to memorize the faces of his other family. The glass finally disappeared from between the Goddess' hands, and he let his arms fall back to his side, looking up at her calm face.

"One last thing," Rubiss said as the bright white around them faded to something easier to look at. "When you have recovered, seek my northern temple. I will await you there with all the answers you seek, as well as cleanse the curse that plagues you."

Malroth felt his feet lift from the ground. In an instant the scene around them changed, finding them hovering in the air above Crea and his gruesome form.

"Crea," he said, reaching. 

She didn't seem to be able to hear him. His arm was more transparent than he realized against the dark stone, and it finally occurred to him that he was just his spirit.

"How will I keep from dying when I go back?" he asked, eyeing the blood.

Rubiss smiled. "Watch."

* * *

Crea felt numb, listening to Malroth's labored breathing. She didn't know how he had hung on for so long. Her heart wavered a little at each of his hitched breaths, and she kept applying pressure to his side, hoping against all hope. 

A tiny, bright light appeared in front of her suddenly, making her squint with a wince. It hovered at Malroth's side, swaying parallel to the gash, as if it were sentient and observing it. Crea held her hand close, ready to shoo it away if necessary. Malroth grunted abruptly, surprising her, but that didn't startle her near as much as the slender hand that slipped forth from the ball of light.

Crea watched it with wide eyes, unsure what kind of omen this was meant to be. The hand angled gently to point a finger at Malroth's skin, tracing back and forth in the air as though conducting music. Malroth made an unconscious, painful groan, a grimace marring his features. Crea panicked, swiping at the hand.

"Stop!" she said, her voice shaking. "You're hurting him!"

Her fingers passed through the projection and the hand continued to sway with its own rhythm. Crea was a moment away from pulling his body out of reach from the disembodied hand when she noticed the scarf at his side start to… _ move. _

Heart in her throat, she pulled the scarf aside, black flecks of dried blood and dead skin clinging to the fabric. Glancing carefully beneath, she gasped as the area around his gash was knitting itself back together, skin reaching like vines for other nearby branches. Malroth unconsciously whined, his head lolling back from her shoulder. If this being was healing him, as Crea suspected, then maybe he was getting all of the pain and discomfort of healing in a concentrated moment. It had to be painful.

"I've got you," Crea whispered, focusing on smoothing the hairs away from his sweat-laden forehead. His eyebrows dug deep, crying out sporadically as though he were simply in a fever dream.

Crea watched the finger draw smaller and smaller circles now, the skin reaching across the gaps and filling in what small holes were left. There was no evidence left behind that anything had happened there, not even a bruise. Only the blood on his jacket and her scarf had a different story. When his skin stopped moving, she noticed Malroth's breathing had mostly turned back to normal, though it was still uncomfortable to listen to. His body was likely slow to realize what had happened. Sweat beaded across his forehead, his face still stuck in a grimace. Crea looked back at the hand, which straightened a rigid finger to touch his side before disappearing. 

Malroth gasped loudly, bolting upright. Crea herself squeaked in surprise, jumping in slight panic at the sudden noise. Malroth didn't notice, instead patting his sides and arms and lap, as though checking to make sure he was real. He turned suddenly to face her, his torso twisting to meet her eyes.

Tears pricked her eyes and flooded her eyelashes, relief and longing gripping her heart and burning her throat. Malroth's eyes had similarly misted over, tears trailing down his face as he reached roughly to take her in his arms. Crea pressed her face against his cheek, wordlessly holding him tightly, her pendent pressing against their ribs between them.

She didn't know how, but he had lived.

And she silently thanked every god and goddess that would listen. 


	31. Only A Few Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So if I do not tell you_   
_If I don't find the words_   
_It is not because I don't feel it in my heart_
> 
> In which everyone catches up.

They held each other silently for so long that they had mutually decided to just sleep. The battle had run them exhausted, and neither of them particularly had the effort to find better arrangements. So they had just curled up together and slept on the stone.

At least until Crea's hips and back complained and protested the hard floor long and loud enough to wake her.

She groaned, extracting her fingers from Malroth's hair and rolling flat on her back. It was unlikely her muscles and joints would let her live that down for a few days, she could already tell. 

"Crea."

She looked over, brilliant red eyes practically shining back at her. Malroth smiled sweetly, nostalgic and sentimental though he was at almost dying. It made him look delicate, though she knew better. He himself just didn't care enough to hide it.

"Hey," she said, reaching up to rest the back of her hand on the stone floor between them. Malroth placed his hand on top, a reverent look growing in his eyes. 

"You lived," she added.

Malroth laughed softly. "Yeah."

"Somehow."

He nodded, a comfortable smile resting on his lips. "Yeah."

"You got me really scared there for a bit," Crea admitted. "I wanted to smack you, truthfully, but I knew you were already hurt and I didn't think I wanted to add to it."

"It was Rubiss," Malroth said abruptly. 

Crea stared. "What?"

"Rubiss," he repeated. "She let me come back."

"I… what? How?"

The images of his other family drifted through his mind. "She wanted to know if I wanted to stay here or move on," he shrugged. "I wanted to stay."

Crea knew there was something he wasn't saying, but if didn't want to share she wouldn't press the issue.

"She told me to go to her northern temple," Malroth added. "For the curse. And…" he swallowed, "answers."

Crea's eyes widened as she looked at him, an unasked question clearly settling on her lips.

"What?" he said.

She sighed. "Can I be so greedy to ask you to wait a few days? I want to just… be with you. For a while. It's been a couple of crazy days right after another."

Malroth grinned, squeezing her hand. "I think that's a good idea."

The protests of the iron door filled the space, and Malroth sat up quickly to assess the threat. His fingers twitched without his hammer in grabbing distance, but he relaxed when he saw Damara sweep into the room with Ferrum limping in behind her.

"Damara!" Crea said, sitting up.

"Oh, is okay!" she said, relieved, striding towards them purposefully. It was clear she was trying not to just run to their side. "Thank the Goddess, we feared the worst when we hadn't seen Malroth since yesterday. What happened? Is Zeligon dead? Are you two alright? Hurt?"

Malroth rolled his eyes. "Geez. Calm down Mom, it's—" His eyes widened as he caught himself in a rare, immediate moment of mortifying embarrassment, slapping both hands over his mouth as his ears and cheeks flushed an instant and dramatic red. Crea just laughed. He leaned forward to tuck his head down, trying to hide his face. He'd never done anything like that before.

"You got your pants in a twist, there?" Ferrum grinned over the echoing sounds of Crea's laughter. "Didn't think you were the type to get embarrassed."

Malroth knew _ why _ he'd had that word on his brain, but he really didn't want to have to explain it. His face burned. "I, uh… I—" he stammered, not knowing how to begin or end his sentence.

Damara smiled nervously, rubbing at her forearms. "Is alright," she said quietly. "I should probably not be asking so many questions, you are right."

Malroth was equal parts relieved and even more embarrassed that she was evading the point. But also starting to get a little mad that Crea would _ not stop laughing. _ "Do you mind?" he hissed, shooting her a dirty look. She didn't see it, her head thrown back and eyes crinkled shut in delight. "I hate you," Malroth grumbled instead, his face still flushed and warm.

Crea wiped her tears away, sporadic giggles coming like hiccups. "Goddess, _ Malroth,"_ she said, taking in the sight of his burning cheeks and pouting lips. "We beat Zeligon. We _ won. _ And you lived! All these crazy things happened and _ this _ is the hill you die on?" She giggled at the absurdity of it all. 

He softened, even though his face still felt on fire. It really was absurd all the things that had happened in the last few days and weeks since coming here. Malroth bit back a smile. 

"Sounds like a story," Ferrum said, maneuvering herself carefully against her own wounds to sit in front of them. "We've got breakfast if you wanna share the entertainment."

Crea and Malroth grinned at each other.

* * *

They spoke and ate for a long time, sharing the events of what happened while they were apart. Crea was rightfully horrified at Malroth's recounting of Ferrum and Damara's possession, supplemented by the brief emotions and images the two women could remember from the encounter. Ferrum was the most upset about it, demanding to see the bruise she'd left behind. _ That _ she had easily remembered. All four of them grimaced when he lifted his shirt, the blacks, blues, purples, and even greens blending in a kaleidoscope on his skin. She was angry she couldn't stop herself and apologized incessantly. For once, Malroth didn't mind.

Crea couldn't remember much of her time kidnapped, other than the couple of times Zeligon had reached into her mind to dig around her memories. He had whispered to her consciousness as he forced her to watch whatever he was looking at, trying to spin lies and misinterpret her feelings. Especially the time he stumbled upon the more intimate moments, mocking her feelings at seeing Malroth spread across her skin. Malroth squeezed her hand at that. He remembered what Zeligon had said to him about her pity– they would need to have a talk about that later.

Malroth and Crea took turns describing the fight against Zeligon, Damara and Ferrum reacting overdramatically to lighten the mood. Crea breezed over Malroth's almost dying, and Malroth tried to paraphrase his encounter with Rubiss. It didn't dissuade the questions as well as he'd hoped.

"Rubiss?" Damara said reverently. "You more or less died and Rubiss herself appeared to you?"

Malroth rubbed his neck. "Yeah?"

"Weird," Ferrum said. "I've never heard of her doing anything like that. So directly, I mean. All the stories make her out to be this cryptic kinda gal, not so straightforward."

Malroth hesitated. "I mean, she made me chose it."

"As opposed to?" Damara asked, her eyebrow raising. 

"I don't want to talk about it," he murmured. He needed time to process it for himself. And maybe grieve a little. "What matters is I'm here now, and I'm supposed to go find her Northern temple. I dunno where that is."

"Me neither," Ferrum shrugged unhelpfully. "Would be nice if we had anyone from Calor back in town, huh?"

Damara chewed her lip. "I also don't know. Garrick may know something though, he was furthest north of all of us."

"Sounds good by me," Ferrum said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the open iron door. "I'm getting cold though. We should bounce."

They all agreed. Crea rose to her feet, her pendant bouncing against her shirt. She turned to take Malroth's hand, but he was still sitting down, trying to hide a grimace. Remembering the bruise and how much fighting he'd done over the last two days, Crea reached out her hand. Malroth smiled gratefully, and he took it, rising to his feet with her help. Their fingers slipped together as they walked towards the big iron doors, stepping out into the sunlight behind Damara and Ferrum.

They walked down the grand staircase together. Malroth was glad the sky was clear now. It had been dark when he got here, and he was glad to see the calmness that lingered in the ruins. A far cry from the depressing place he'd felt it was before. Crea's grip stiffened suddenly as she stopped walking, jerking Malroth's arm back. He spun on a lower step to look up at her, the question dying on his tongue when she saw her face. 

Her eyes were wide, rapidly flitting over the layout of the ruined city. Her free hand held at her pendant, pressed tightly against her midsection. She was clearly nervous, and maybe a little upset, but he had no idea why.

"Malroth," she said quietly. "Where exactly _ are _ we?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Laic," he said. "That southern city Garrick told us about. Remember? On the other side of the mountains?"

Refusing to meet his gaze, she kept glancing nervously about. Ferrum and Damara had stopped at the bottom of the staircase, looking back for them.

Malroth squeezed her hand, ascending the steps back to her side. "Hey," he said. "Crea. Are you okay?"

"It's not the same," she whispered quickly. "It's not the same. I'm fine."

She was clearly not fine. 

"Crea," he said again, his voice low in warning. "Tell me. What's wrong?"

She took a deep breath, glancing at him before looking down at her feet. "This place," she said slowly. "It's… it looks just like Cantlin."


	32. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I close my eyes, I know you're there, love of mine,_   
_Standing on the shore in a world I design_
> 
> In which they walk through Cantlin-ish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out and bonus thanks to digidiskette on discord for being a great duck!

"What's—" Malroth blinked, his brain catching up with his mouth before he could finish his question. "Wait. Cantlin is where you're from, isn't it?"

She nodded.

Malroth looked out over the ruins. "And… seeing it like this…"

"It's not the same," she murmured shakily, trying to convince herself. "I'm sure real Cantlin is fine. It… _ I'm _ fine. It's okay."

Malroth didn't understand why his protective instinct had kicked in, or why he was starting to feel jealous. That a place could so fully captivate her was… well, he didn't know. He wished he could do that. Or have that. 

The whole thing just made him really confused. 

"Well, you wanted to see Cantlin, right?" she said, fake enthusiasm dripping from her words. She tried to walk down the stairs. "Granted it's not quite the same, but—"

Motionless, Malroth held his ground, consequently jerking her arm back as she tried to slip out of reach. How she intended to do that with her fingers interlaced with his own was anyone's guess. 

"Crea," he said, firm and unimpressed. "You don't have to do this."

"I—"

"No really," he interrupted, staring at her persistently. He wasn't interested in excuses. "I mean it. If it bothers you, I'll carry you out and you can close your eyes. You don't have to see any more."

She hesitated, searching his expression. "I can do it," she murmured. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah."

_ "Really?" _

Crea sighed. "...No."

Malroth moved to scoop her off her feet and she yelped, letting go of his hand and retreating a couple steps down.

"Let me try!" she said loudly, clutching her pendant. "I… I have to try."

"Why?" he asked, following down to her side.

Crea swallowed, looking down the steps. "You're hurt," she said lamely.

"So?" he said. "I can deal with pain. That's easy. You know I could take any pain, especially for you. What I can't deal with"–he gestured vaguely at her–"is this." 

She took a deep breath. "Please?" she said.

Malroth grumbled. He'd never been good at telling her no. "Fine," he relented. "But if you start crying I'm picking you up and running."

Crea nodded, standing up straighter with determination. Her eyes clearly betrayed how much she wavered. Malroth took her hand back in his own, squeezing gently. She merely nodded, descending the stairs with him again.

Internally, Malroth felt like a tornado, his emotions swirling around restlessly. He was angry that this was _ one more thing _ for her to deal with, far from home that she was. She always said she was happy in this world, but he never quite believed it. He was sad that _ she _ was sad, dealing with the trauma-but-not of seeing her hometown destroyed. He couldn't protect her from something like that. He was jealous that she had a hometown to begin with, he was curious at what or who she was thinking about, he was confused why this place was even here.

And he was terrified that maybe this meant she wanted to go back. 

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Damara raised an eyebrow pointedly at him, openly questioning what was going on. Maintaining firm eye contact, Malroth shook his head, his lips pulled into a tight line. _ Later, _ he mouthed. She nodded, shuffling Ferrum discreetly away. For once, she didn't argue.

"That's where the merchants all gathered," Crea said quietly, motioning to a large square with her head. "They'd set up little stalls if they planned to stick around for a while. I always loved seeing things from other cities. And sometimes other islands." She adjusted her fingers against his own, her free hand coming up to her mouth to chew her thumb. 

Malroth nodded. He was remembering now what Hela— No, what _ Rubiss _ had said. That most of the world had been restored properly… but not here. Laic had picked up something _ extra. _ But what, exactly? Simply the fact that it looked like Cantlin?

"This was the inn," Crea continued, motioning at another. Her hand fell from her mouth to rest on her neck. "There was such a nice lady that ran it. She'd have given you her own bed if you needed it. Not that she ever had to, I think, Cantlin was big but there weren't a lot of travelers… Not that I ever noticed, I guess." Her hand went from her neck up into her hair, tugging on short hairs at the base of her scalp until trailing to the ends and toying with that. 

Malroth narrowed his eyes. She wasn't quite agitated, not yet, but she was doing a crappy job of hiding her nerves. 

"Oh," she said quietly, looking around. "The builder's guild was here too. I'm glad I got a more hands on approach, they were so into bookwork and apprenticeships I thought I'd never actually get to build for a while."

"That sounds dumb," Malroth said, at least trying to be a little supportive. He may not like the place, but that wasn't her fault.

"It really was," she said, smoothing her free hand against her shirt as if trying to clear sweat from her palms. "There were so many builders in Cantlin, have I told you that? While I like being the center of attention with it here, it would be nice to have someone to look up to about it sometimes, y'know?"

Malroth bit his lip to keep it from falling into an _ oh. _ Aside from obviously missing home in general, there was the slight insecurity that maybe she wasn't really a great builder after all. That perhaps isolated as they were was little grounds for improvement. But the only way Cantlin could be superimposed on anything was from her head. The only time they could've done _ that _ was when they were crafting that thing to send into the sky to save the world. Which meant…

Crea glanced around, starting to fidget with her pendant again. "See? Totally fine. I told you I got this. Right?"

Malroth's eyes narrowed further. Which meant that even in the triumphant moments of saving the world, there had still been a part of her yearning for home hard enough that she dropped it in over another city. 

And he didn't like that implication at _ all_. 

"Oh man," Crea said, emboldened by how well she thought she was successfully lying to herself. "There was a baker that lived here that was _ so _ good. Fluffy bread, phenomenal cakes. I remember one time my… mom…"

She stopped walking, eyes fixed on the remains of a particular place. He followed her gaze for a moment, not picking up the significance of the place. He could hear her breathing just _ barely _ become faster and shorter. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't have noticed. But he'd spent so much time with her by this point it was almost impossible _ not _ to notice.

Malroth turned back, studying her face. Her eyes were wide, her jaw hung slack. She looked lost.

"Crea…?" he tried, slow and tentative. 

Her breath hitched slightly as she gripped his hand. "Get me out," she whispered.

Malroth felt like he'd never moved faster in his life. Taking his hand back, he hurriedly swept her into his arms and started to bolt in the same motion. She buried her head into his shoulder as he ran, squeezing her eyes shut as she grasped at his neck, her face scrunched tightly. Malroth saw Ferrum and Damara out of the corner of his eye start to take off after them, but he quickly outpaced them. They weren't his focus. They could catch up anyway.

He didn't stop running when they reached the crumbling gates, nor he didn't stop when they hit the bend in the road. In the silence of the dead, purpling landscape, he ran all the way to the bridge. Setting her down with her back against the stone, she pulled her knees up to her chest, eyes still shut tight as she tried to clear the images and thoughts from her mind.

Panting, Malroth put his hands on his hips, trying to regain his breath. He turned his head and saw Damara, Ferrum trailing behind.

"Is okay?" Damara asked, concern marking deep lines across her features.

Malroth could only nod, his heavy breathing sending slight pain up his side.

"The hell was that?" Ferrum demanded when she got close enough. "One second you're walking along just fine, trying to be all cute, and the next thing we know you're both flying out of there like a bat out of hell. What happened?"

"Cantlin," Malroth growled. "It looked like Cantlin, her hometown."

Damara frowned. "Where is—"

"You remember what she said about Malhalla?" Malroth interrupted, looking pointedly at Ferrum. "That she jumped into the afterlife cos I got kidnapped by some sick bastard on a power trip?"

Ferrum nodded curtly, her expression still angrily annoyed. "What about it?"

"Long story short, this world was an illusion out of that guy's mind. There's another world that Crea came from and that one has Cantlin in it. Once we beat up that bastard and his destructo god-friend, I absorbed magical powers, we came back here, and made the fake world into a real one."

"But what does that have to do with here?" Ferrum asked, exasperated. 

_ "Because,"_ Malroth said. "We specifically tried to do it so everything would be the same. And so far everything _ has _ been the same, _ except" _–he pointed angrily back at the town–"for there!"

"Malroth," Damara said gently. "You aren't upset because this one town didn't copy properly, are you?"

Malroth began to pace. "Of course not, don't be stupid."

"Then why_ are _ you so upset?" she asked.

He wanted to be mad at her for asking the right questions. Truthfully, he just didn't want to explain it where Crea could hear him.

He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, looking off into the dead forest. "I don't like seeing her hurt," he lied, grumbling. He saw the look exchanged between their faces, but he didn't care. It was at least partially the truth.

"Crea," Damara said, kneeling next to her. "Are you okay?"

Crea looked at her, seeing but vacant. "It was my parent's house."

Malroth bristled. As if this could get any worse.

"No," Damara said gently. "It only _ looked _ like it. This is Laic, remember? Not Cantlin."

"But what if they're gone?" she whimpered. "What if something happened and they—"

"Then there's nothing you can do about it here or now," Damara said. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but we need to keep moving. Once we get back to the island we can sort through this together. Okay? Can you do that?"

Crea took a shaky breath before nodding once, her knees coming away from her chest so she could stand. Damara took her arm carefully, walking with her. Ferrum and Malroth followed behind, a scowl plastered to his face.


	33. Counting Down The Days/Liquid Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Time is like an enemy_   
_Leaving lovers by the side_   
_The more you cling to love_   
_[The more you gonna lose your mind](https://youtu.be/yAuM9R5X95Q) _
> 
> In which they grieve.

Traveling home had been a breeze. The wind had been at their backs the whole way, and the pleasant smell of the sea calmed Crea down considerably. She still stared out at the horizon as they sailed, lost in her thoughts, Damara hovering close by her side, fretting. Perched on the front bow of the ship, per usual, Malroth too was lost in his thoughts. He mulled over his feelings, trying to think of how to address this with her when they returned, as well as this Northern Temple business. Mostly he was worried, and the feeling made him angry. Not angry with her, not directly, but that her insecurities had manifested in such a way that became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Glowering at the horizon, he was frustrated at himself for not noticing sooner. 

It turned out to be a quiet journey otherwise. They arrived back at the dock some time after sunset, trekking up the path to the quiet city among the cacophony of crickets. Crea and Damara had to help Ferrum up the inconsistent incline, her leg still agitated from the freak encounter with the shade. She didn't remember hurting it, just that it hurt. Malroth hung back, bringing up the rear as he carefully watched Crea. Only his furrowed eyebrows gave anything away that something was the matter under his otherwise neutral expression, but even then it gave no sense of scale to the confusion he felt. 

Mostly, it hurt. And he didn't quite know what to do about that. 

There'd been no fanfare when they returned– just blissful silence. Crea yawned a little as she thought about the comfort of the bed, and wished Damara and Ferrum a good night before heading inside, Malroth behind her.

Crea had presence of mind enough to kick off her shoes, but otherwise fell face first onto the bed, dirty clothes and all. It was relieving to not have to move for a while, somewhere with no expectations or obligations. A place to hide. She sighed into the sheets, drinking it in.

She heard a door close, and she propped herself up on her elbows to look around. Malroth's hammer propped up next to the bathroom door frame, neighboring her own. Her bag rested peacefully on the nightstand, where she might have put it had she been the one to take it off for the night. She heard the shower kick on and she blinked, realizing through the haze of nostalgia that he hadn't said a word to her since they got on the ship that morning. Her heart froze in her chest. Memories cycled through to her in waves, and she vaguely remembered him talking animatedly outside of Can— 

_ Laic, _ she corrected herself.

He'd been angry.

She hadn't noticed, buried too far in her grief. 

Her heart steadily dropped in her chest at the realization. _ And now he's angry with… me? _She couldn't help but move around in a haze after that, shucking off clothing and getting ready for bed.

Malroth stood under the warm water for a long time, switching between long periods of watching the water cascade off his bruised skin and burying his face in his hands to keep from screaming or crying. She wanted to leave, to go back. He was convinced. All of the emotions and feelings of that day when they saved the world weren't even enough to keep her from yearning or thinking about home, enough for her to drop a replica of the place into the otherwise perfect and _ real _ world of their own. Malroth growled. He'd been foolish to think she was content here. He was foolish to think that maybe she was staying for him.

Burying his face back into his hands, hot silent tears spilled through his fingers. He cursed himself for being so ignorant. Maybe he should've picked his other life. Had Rubiss known? Had She been trying to give him an out, knowing that this was the case?

Had he made the wrong choice?

He stayed under the water for a long time.

When he emerged, emotions mostly subsided or washed away, with wet hair pulled back into a messy knot, he saw her burrowed under the sheets. He sighed, changing into his bed clothes and climbing into his side of the bed, grimacing at the aches and pains that poked back at him. Leaving his back to her, he curled his arms close to his chest. It was quiet for a while, long enough that Malroth started to wonder if he'd even be able to sleep at all. But then she rustled behind him, and he flinched as she sidled up behind him, putting an arm across his torso to hold him. Heat flushed across his face and the gaping hole in his chest multiplied. She was truly cruel. 

The silence grew heavy, the divide of each wanting to speak growing larger between them in spite of how close they were physically. And it only grew worse with each passing second. Malroth was certain she'd be able to feel his heart beating in his chest, loud as it was in his own ears. He hated feeling so helpless. 

Crea inhaled. "I'm sorry," she whispered. 

His heart was probably going to shatter through his rib cage, he was sure of that too. "For what?" he said, his voice low and hoarse.

A beat. "You've been crying," she noted, pain in her own voice. 

It made him think of that night on the Isle of Awakening, so long ago. He wondered if he would go back, given the choice. Keep this journey from starting, if not for a selfish desire to keep her.

"Yeah," he murmured, too emotionally exhausted to hide it like he had back then. 

"Why?" she asked.

Tears pricked at his eyes, hot embarrassment and anger rolling anew in his heart. She wanted to hear it out loud. That he'd finally realized it had all been a mistake. She must've been waiting for this before she chose to go back to her world. The hole in his chest grew larger still, threatening to consume him. It was cruel. _ She _ was cruel. But he couldn't hate her, as much as he felt he wanted to.

"You—" He faltered, his throat tightening around his shame. _ Goddess,_ he was weak. He hated himself for it. Malroth tried again. "You're going to leave," he choked.

He felt her startle. "What?"

"You're going to leave," he scowled softly, bristling at having to say it again. "Because… because of Cantlin."

She pulled at his side. "Malroth, please look at me," she said, an urgent tone in her voice.

Malroth determinedly moved his side away from her grasp a little. "No."

"Malroth," she pleaded. "I won't leave you."

Anger rose in his cheeks. "Like I could really believe that."

Her breath was shaking as she inhaled. "But I love you."

"As much as you love Cantlin?" he snapped. "Rubiss warned me about Laic, you know. Telling me it had picked up extra projections when we remade the world. You don't have to _ lie _to me. You missed home that much when we—"

"No!" Crea pulled as his side again desperately. "Stop that!"

He growled, leaning away. "You missed it _ that _ much only _ minutes _ after getting back from Malhalla that you brought it here. I'm not stupid. This was all just some game until you got bored enough to go back. Until you—" Malroth exhaled harshly, shaking. "Until you were finished with me."

"How could you say that?" she said softly. He could feel her hand trembling at his side.

"Don't be coy," he snarled. Tears spilled as he spoke, staring harshly at the wall. "I understand now. You were always going to leave. I should've believed Zeligon when he said you only pitied me."

She was breathing very fast now. Probably trying to keep herself from crying. "He lied to you." Her voice was clipped, anger peeking through her words. "Just like he lied to me."

"As if he—"

"Because Zeligon said the _ exact _ same thing to me!" she yelled, her grip tightening at his side despite the shaking. "That you only stayed _ because _ I had nothing and no one else! Because you could get everything you wanted with me wrapped around your finger. That you were using me to get whatever pleasure and gratification you wanted because of my… my—" Crea exhaled harshly. "But it's not true. It's not. It can't be. You aren't like that." He wasn't sure if she was trying to convince or remind herself.

"You regret me," he tried to insist. His heart was less confident now than it was five minutes ago.

"How could I?" she said, her voice softening. "You've saved my life more times than I can count. I always felt like _ I _ could never match up to _ you. _ That you'd get bored of my pathetic ass and leave me to fend for myself."

Malroth held his arms tighter across his chest. 

"I just…" Crea sighed. "I know you don't understand. I just… need you. Give me a little time to sort this out."

Malroth felt the gaping hole in his chest grow wider, encompassing his ribs in a sort of weightlessness. Sure she _ said _ she wasn't going to go, but if she hadn't gotten through dealing with it all then… maybe she would still decide to do it after all. Go through with leaving him behind.

_ But… _

A stray thought appeared in his mind, like a stray sunbeam peeking in through a gap in the curtains.

_ If this really is the end, _ he thought, _ maybe I can at least make it a good ending. _

Malroth took a deep breath, finally turning around to face her. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes looking swollen and sad. He ignored the pang of sadness in his own heart, carefully taking her in his arms in a way that he wouldn't have to see her face. 

He knew he could do what she wanted if he didn't have to see her face.

"I don't know how well I can be here for you," he admitted quietly. "But if going through the motions will be enough to help you, I can do that."

Crea stiffened a little. "Going through the motions…?" 

The memory of the family floated through his thoughts again. "You're not the only one who needs to mourn some things," he said quietly.

There was silence aside from their breathing for a long while. Even though they laid skin to skin, there was a distinct lack of warmth this time around. Malroth wanted nothing more than to just roll over and go to sleep, but something kept him still.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Crea asked finally.

He sighed. "Maybe later."

She nodded, her forehead gently bonking against his collarbone. "I'm going to try to sleep now," she said. Her voice sounded so defeated.

With little effort, he raised his arms, allowing her to leave his embrace. She stayed still for a moment, as though not comprehending what he was doing. But several seconds later she rolled over and away, sniffling as she settled in among the sheets. Malroth stared at her back for a long time, watching her side rise and fall with breath, slower and slower until he knew she was asleep. He rolled onto his back, staring at the darkened ceiling, allowing silent tears to slip from his eyes into his hair.

_ I wish we'd never come here. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> around this time last year, my husband lost his job. while he was unemployed we had a flurry of drama that erupted on both sides of the family, as well as other financial hardships like our water heater dying and dealing with the overall pressure of having bought our house the summer previous. this all worked together to be probably the worst four or five months of my entire adult life. 
> 
> and you know?
> 
> it was also probably the loneliest.
> 
> both he and I were dealing with grief at all the things that were happening, and even though we were there for each other and talked about everything and struggled with each other, we couldn't GIVE anything. there was so much pain there wasn't any ROOM for comfort. eventually it was just so overwhelming we started asking each other when enough was enough and if we could just quit.
> 
> I like to think that's a little of what's happening here. There's so much grief there's not much room to comfort or take much of each other on. they're trying, but sometimes life gets in the way and you can't give or take no matter how much you want to.
> 
> I dunno. just something I was thinking about.


	34. Thing Called Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You live your life just once_   
_So don't forget about a thing called love_
> 
> In which Ferrum joins MomSquad.

Malroth woke first, as usual. Noiselessly, he crept out of bed, trying to stealthily get dressed so he could leave without having to navigate a conversation with her. It was too unbearable at the moment. Neither had any way for answers with the other just yet. Too many feelings and thoughts clouded their minds like a fog. It was better to wait, he decided. 

He looked back at the bed out of habit as he reached for the doorknob, and he froze mid step as he realized Crea was watching him. Her expression was blank, and the humiliation of being caught jolted painfully through his blood. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity until Malroth finally blinked, forcing his trembling hands to let himself outside with steps that felt like they were encased in lead. It was better this way, he reminded himself again.

He knew he was lying.

The air was colder than he thought it would be, the gentle oranges of sunrise just barely beginning to tickle the sky. Malroth sighed, seeing slight wisps of his breath in the air. The bite in his lungs was appreciated, helping distract slightly from the rest of his fitful feelings.

But the pain never lasted long enough to distract him sufficiently. It never had. It never would.

The view from atop the fortress still took his breath away, staring off into the east to view the sunrise. Malroth climbed up between the teeth of the parapets, letting his legs dangle down against the outer wall. He looked down, idly wondering how far of a drop it was. He must've been staring down for a while, since he jumped violently at the voice in his ear sometime later.

"You thinking about jumping?" Ferrum asked, her uneven gait catching his attention. It'd been splinted with an awkward looking brace, some kind of boot that stretched up to mid-thigh that kept her knee and ankle from bending. 

Malroth frowned. "You look like you shouldn't be walking on that."

"If I stopped doing all the things I _ shouldn't _ do, I'd have never developed my hammer and you'd be dead right now," she said matter-of-factly, stopping to lean against the wall. "And that wouldn't do us much good now, would it?"

He looked back out over the landscape towards the horizon. "I kinda wish I was dead right now," he murmured. "At least then it wouldn't hurt."

Ferrum raised an eyebrow. "Did I miss something?"

He sighed. He didn't have the energy for this. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

His mind blanked. Where would he even start? He took a deep breath, hoping the words would come.

"I'm afraid she's going to leave," he said, starting slowly. "Crea, I mean. Laic just _ looking _ like Cantlin messed her up bad. And I… I don't have any idea what that's like. There's so much of myself that feels like it's _ missing, _ and if she leaves to go back to her world, then I—" He startled at the wetness that landed on his hands, and he reached up to touch his face. _ Crying again, _ he realized. He groaned in frustration. _ Why does it feel like all I can do now is cry? _

"Easy now," Ferrum said, her voice grounding him in a way that made him feel at least a little better. "Is it bad if she goes?"

"If she goes, she can't come back," he muttered darkly, scrubbing the moisture from his eyes. "If she leaves then I get left behind. I was stupid for thinking she was happy here. Happy with me. Of course she wants to go. I made the wrong choice and it's killing me."

"You mean with Rubiss?" Ferrum asked.

Malroth nodded. "It was more than simply staying or going. It was a choice between Crea and…" He forced himself to breathe. He hated how weak and powerless he was feeling. "And the family I never had. My _ other life, _ as Rubiss put it. The actual human me. The… real me."

"Pretty sure I know my way around real and fake," Ferrum said, lightly punching at his shoulder. "You feel pretty solid to me."

Malroth swayed at her touch, staring at the flecks of pink that were rising between the oranges in the sky. "I should have chosen them," he murmured. "Then she could go back without having to _ pretend _ to feel bad at leaving me behind. She could just go. And I… wouldn't hold her back anymore."

"Who _ are _ you?" Ferrum said, staring at him, perplexed. "This ain't the same spitfire I saw in my forge last week. You get corrupted by the shade before we came back?"

He stared blankly ahead, numbness settling in.

"Look," she said, leaning against the wall. "You're in _ mourning. _ And it sounds like she is too. Communication is gonna fail sometimes, y'know? Especially when you're both upset. That doesn't mean the end of the world. It happens. You just gotta take a little time and—"

"I don't want your platitudes," he growled. "I want answers. I want the pain to _ mean _ something. Before, it's always been to protect her. If I get hurt, she doesn't. But now we're both hurt and what good does that do?" He scowled, preemptively rubbing at his eyes.

"Well if your goal as a guardian is 'she can never get hurt ever' then you're in for a bad time, I can tell you that much," Ferrum snorted. "Try a dose of realism."

Malroth sighed. "You don't understand."

"You think I don't?" Ferrum laughed loudly in his ear. "My whole confession about Perenna didn't stick to your brain, did it?"

He winced.

"Because I'm on the other side of that minecart, kiddo, and you ain't there yet. You aren't even on the same _ track _ for that. Trust me." She laughed callously. "Nah, you don't get to tell me I don't understand. Because I can promise I do."

"Then help me," he whispered. "I feel like I'm drowning."

Ferrum searched his face, observing his slumped demeanor and vacant eyes. "That depends on what you want," she said. 

"An endpoint," he said. "To know it ends. For her to… stay. Maybe even if she shouldn't."

"Alright, bad question. I'm sure not Damara with these." Ferrum snickered to herself. "Either way, it sounds like you're looking for a lifeline. Something to hold onto. Something that tells you it'll be worth it, maybe. Does that sound right?"

Malroth nodded blankly.

"Then the better question is… what does that look like?"

He turned to stare at her for a moment, searching her expression with dull red eyes. "I don't understand."

"What would have to happen for you to realize that it's okay?" she asked, her expression becoming more earnest. "To know that you're _ gonna _ be okay, even if you aren't now?"

He sucked in a breath, looking back to the horizon as he pondered for a moment. The mere thought of Crea right now was painful, and he couldn't think of anything she could really say that would make him feel better. Talk was easy. Action was harder to fake. But with her out of capacity for now and the foreseeable future, what could she or anyone _ do? _

"I don't know what it looks like," he said slowly. "But… I just wanna know I didn't make the wrong choice. Not by anything anybody says, either, but by something they do. Or something… _ she'll _ do."

The sun broke over the horizon, the light blinding his eyes. Malroth squinted, turning his head to the side. He always stared right at it like he was waiting for it to burn him. _ Why do I do that? _ he wondered. 

Ferrum hummed, carefully getting back on her feet after coaxing herself off the wall. "Well, I can't help you much with that. But if you're looking for something to do, I could use a hand. I can't work the furnace right well with my leg like this."

Malroth nodded absently. His mind was clearly miles away. 

Ferrum rolled her eyes, nudging at his shoulder. "Malroth," she said, trying to get his attention.

He looked at her blankly.

"Can you help me with the forge?" she said, keeping careful eye contact. "Nothing like beatin' solid heat to help push through some feelings."

Blinking, he rotated his body to slip off the parapet onto the walkway. His motions made her think of the walking corpses she used to see in the southern grasslands at the edge of the desert. He ambled past her and she limped her way after him, heading for the ramp at the back of the fortress.

_ Well, _ I _ might not know what reassurance looks like, _ she thought. _ But I bet Damara will have an idea. _

* * *

True to Ferrum's word, the forge helped. Working both his body and his mind proved to be ample distraction, once he got over the initial mind-numbing haze. Ferrum worked by his side, bossing him around until he got his feet under him again. In due time, Malroth had taken over completely and forced her to sit, mindful and concerned about her leg. Ferrum still made herself useful, mostly yelling instructions over the clanging of the tools against the anvil.

Damara appeared around lunchtime, bringing… well, lunch. Malroth watched idly as he ate, seeing Ferrum push Damara outside while she whispered about "something urgent." He could see Ferrum's animated conversation through the window, but heard nothing. Damara retained her typical stoic poise, listening attentively until she said something that made Ferrum's face light up. Damara left and Ferrum returned with a smug look on her face. Malroth didn't ask, instead busying himself with the jam he smeared on his roll.

There was too much he wished he _hadn't_ asked over the last couple days. He wasn't about to make that mistake again.

Still, at the end of the day when he was gleaming with sweat and exhaustion, he found himself wondering where he would go for the evening. He knew he didn't want to go home just to lie in silence next to her– she needed space like he needed to breathe. Plus it would hurt. He knew it would only hurt.

"Can I… stay here?" Malroth asked as Ferrum tried to usher him out the door. "I can sleep on the floor, if it wouldn't be a bother."

A brief flash of dismay crossed her features, but it disappeared as she regained her composure. "Of course not," she said. "You have a bed. Use it."

"I'd rather not," he grumbled. "I… want space."

"What, it's not big enough?" she smirked.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he said, casting a disapproving look.

Ferrum shrugged, smirk lingering. "Just try it. It might not be so bad."

"I'd rather sleep outside."

"It's getting colder at night, you'd freeze."

"Then I'd sleep in the dorm."

"No spare beds."

"Damara's, then."

Ferrum eyed him indignantly. "With how many times you've already kicked her out of her own bed?"

"I'd sleep on the floor!"

_ "No," _ Ferrum insisted. "Absolutely not. Crea needs you. Go to her."

Malroth wanted to argue, but the determined look in her eyes made him give up. He shook his head, arms outstretched in defeat.

"Fine," he grumbled, stepping out of the shop and onto the path. "But if it's still bad, you're swapping beds with me."

Ferrum smirked. "Deal."

The weight returned heavy on his heart when he approached the house. He paused at the door, trying to will himself to move. _ C'mon, _ he told himself. _ Just through the door and you can shower. She's probably asleep by now. And then you can just sleep and leave before she has a chance to talk to you in the morning. _ Clinging to the thought, he forced a big lungful of air into his system, using the action to spur him into opening the door and moving inside. 

It was dark, but he wasn't entirely sure if it was because of the oppressive feelings that hung in the room like clouds, or if it was actually just really dark. Barely making out the silhouette of the bed, Malroth kicked off his shoes before moving silently through the room, his eyes adjusting quickly. 

There was something in the way her body rested on the sheets that made him pause. Silently he crept towards Crea, trying to see what it was that caught his attention. Her hand curled softly around something, and her arms splayed as though she'd spent considerable time looking at it before falling asleep in the middle of it. Her face was scrunched a little, looking like she'd been solving complicated builder problems in her dreams. It was then that Malroth noticed the thin, tiny chain trailing out from between her fingers. 

Gently pushing her fingers out of her loose fist, he saw the pendant nestled warmly in her palm. He felt his heart ache as he saw it, glimmering even in the low light of the room. Interest pressing against his mind he carefully pulled it out, trying desperately not to wake her. Turning the locket over in his hand, he found the mechanism to open it.

Empty.

Malroth huffed. He should've guessed. It wasn't like she'd had much time to even put anything in it. He wondered if she had anything she wanted to put inside in the first place. 

Leaning back down, he pressed the pendent softly back into her palm. Crea's free hand moved, lightly grabbing his wrist. Flinching, the hair on the back of his neck immediately stood on end, and he looked at her face in wide shock. He felt frozen in her soft gaze, her eyes locked on his. Malroth felt his instinct to run tingle through his legs, but they likewise felt anchored to the floor. He could easily overpower her grasp, weak as it was. He knew that. But he couldn't look away.

"Please stay," she whispered, her voice sounding hoarse and broken. "I can't bear to lose you too."

The air trapped in his throat pressed at his rib cage, reminding him to breathe. He exhaled, calming the flighted response in his nerves. "Y-yeah," he said, his voice a little too high for his liking. "Yeah. Of course." Everything else forgotten, Malroth moved around the bed, dropping his gloves on the nightstand before crawling into bed behind her. He hesitantly pressed up against her, placing his hand at her waist. Crea put her hand on top of it, taking it and pulling it up to hold at her chest. She sighed, her other hand closing around the pendant once more. 

Malroth stared at her shoulder, his mind blankly comprehending what just happened. She'd asked for him, pulling him closer. She'd been holding the locket for who knows how long, the metal almost hot against her skin. And then…

_ I can't bear to lose you too. _

He asked for this. He had asked for reassurance that he'd made the right choice, that staying with her hadn't been a mistake. Even if he didn't like to believe solely in words, the fact that she'd been holding the locket he'd made had been telling. It was simply to remind her of his love. The pendant, the very thing that he'd put so much effort into– she had clung to it since the moment he gave it to her. 

Malroth found it ironic that it was reminding himself of his love, too. 

Exhaling, he pressed his nose against her shoulder, leaning into the embrace with all the warmth he could muster. He tucked his legs up under her thighs, pressing his body fully against hers. Crea nuzzled back slightly, seeking his heat.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing her bare skin by the base of her neck. "I'm sorry I haven't been here. I'm going to do better."

Crea made a contented noise, sounding much better than she had several minutes ago. Malroth nuzzled against her, kissing her anew. 

This was his sign. It had to be. And if it wasn't… well, he didn't really want to think about that now. Instead, he knew he needed to hang everything on this if he was going to help her. If he'd been wrong, the Goddess herself would have to come down and smite him to let Crea leave. Whether that was wrong, he didn't know. But it was the lifeline he was willing to grab.

Malroth felt his anxieties slip away as he focused on his love, falling asleep as he submitted himself to her.


	35. Higher Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We can both decide_   
_How to lay all our differences aside_   
_For higher love_
> 
> In which a week passes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for your "gee whiz" collection, this is my second longest chapter at 2.3k words. and it's 99% fluff. :D (longest was chapter 13 at 2.5k. that's the one where they fought Zeli on the way back to the island and Mal's hammer broke.)

The next several days passed in a blur. Malroth threw himself wholeheartedly into Crea's care, hardly leaving her sight if he could help it. And while she still struggled, grappling with her homesickness and conflicted feelings about Cantlin, she knew she was safe in his arms. 

On the first day, they didn't talk much, if at all. Instead, Crea was content with being held, cozied in his embrace as they both slept most of the day. She cried a few times, but Malroth didn't bat an eye, instead moving to hold her just a little closer, hoping his weight around her would put pressure enough to fill something of the hole inside.

It was in the late afternoon that she was awake enough to trail her fingers across his bare chest, lingering on the cuts and bruises as he busied himself with lovingly smoothing her hair. She sat up worriedly, looking over him with wide eyes as Malroth tilted his head to the side in a silent question. She climbed over him, making him turn to rest on his other side. He did as she directed and she immediately smoothed her hand gently over the hammer's bruise, the skin puffy and discolored as wide as both of her outstretched hands put together. She marveled at it, and he stared in grateful awe right back, amazed that she even remembered about his bruise to begin with. And that she was conscious enough of it to make sure he wasn't putting pressure on it.

On the second day, the stranglehold that grief had held on her mind finally relaxed its grip a little, light peeking through the cracks. Crea felt like she opened her eyes for the first time in three days, eyes lingering on Malroth's bruise for a long time. She took a deep breath, catching Malroth's attention before she even spoke.

"What was that thing you mentioned before?" she asked.

He blinked. "When?"

"When you…" She hesitated, searching his face. "When you said you had… things to mourn."

A momentary panic crossed through his eyes, but it disappeared as he exhaled. "Ah."

"If you're not ready—"

"No," he interjected, swiping nervously at his hair. "You should know. I, um… Rubiss showed me something."

"When you were dying?" Crea asked, propping her head on her arm. 

"Yeah," Malroth nodded. He hid his gaze, staring down at the sheets. "She… showed me my other self. In the other world. M-my parents. Older brother."

Crea could hardly breathe. _ "Oh." _

Malroth rubbed at his neck. "Rubiss gave me the choice to stay with you or have a full, real life with them."

"Y-you… chose to stay?" She shook her head, her eyes transfixed on his uncomfortable expression. "But… that was what you wanted."

Malroth finally looked up, reaching to cradle her cheek in his hand. "No," he said, firmly but backed up by his patient smile. "Because then you wouldn't be in it. She mentioned my other self always felt hollow. I'd guess it's because even over there I'm looking for you."

Crea smiled, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

On the third day, Crea's restlessness was growing. Malroth insisted they go for a walk, interlacing their fingers as they strolled through the trees outside the fortress. Crea giggled as he stole kisses under low-hanging branches, gently pressing her back to the tree as he whispered softly in her ear. They flopped down in the grass later, looking up at the clouds that went by.

"That one looks like a bunnicorn without the horn. And missing an ear," Crea said, pointing.

Malroth pointed to another. "The big one looks like two bears high-fiving."

Crea squinted. "I don't see it."

"Yeah, the wispy bit in the middle? That's the paws. Their heads are the balloon parts next to it."

"Ah!" Crea's hand returned to her stomach, taking her locket in her hand. "I see it! They're cute."

Malroth turned, grinning. "You're cute."

She rolled her eyes, an embarrassed smile affixed to her lips. "Thanks."

His eyes trailed down to her hand, glimpsing the metal pendant reflect the sun. "What're you gonna put inside it?" he asked. "In the locket, I mean. I checked it, uh… the other night. Still empty."

Crea hummed. "I dunno yet. Apparently the traditional thing is a picture. Sometimes with a couple strands of hair."

"Hair?" he puzzled. "Seems weird."

"Yeah, I thought so too. Still," she said, lifting it to look at it. "The locket itself is pretty special, since my favorite person handmade it just for me."

Malroth grinned, a tinge of embarrassment tickling his cheeks at her praise. "Lucky guy," he said.

She shook her head, turning her head to smile back at him. "Lucky girl."

On the fourth day, Damara and Ferrum stopped by, bringing lunch. They seemed to sense their fragile dispositions and asked after many stories, seeking to distract them. It wasn't long before all parties were giggling at the stories, reliving memories over their journeys. 

"How did you two meet, anyway?" Ferrum asked. "I know a lot about the rest of your adventures, but not that."

"Woke up on a beach," Malroth shrugged. "She was nearby. She made me a club. I was hers ever since."

Ferrum's jaw dangled open. 

"Is serious?" Damara said, looking at Crea.

"Yes," she said, casting a glance of unamusement his way. "On the other hand, _ I _ remember you being so excited to show some stranger all the dead bodies you found."

"What?" he said, over-exaggerating his fake indignation. "They were cool!"

"It was creepy!" Crea said, Ferrum starting to laugh as she got over her shock. "How's that for a first impression? 'Lookit these dead people!' Meanwhile I'm over there, weak and practically _ dead _ from a shipwreck, and I'm starting to wonder if maybe you're the one that killed them. And that maybe I was next!"

"So far it's gotten me all the ladies," Malroth said smugly.

Ferrum and Damara howled with laughter, Crea rolling her eyes. He didn't like the devilish look she gained a second later, though.

"Was it the bird or the grapevine that suggested it?" she asked.

Damara's eyebrow went up, glancing between the two of them as Ferrum clapped a hand over her mouth, already anticipating the laughter. Malroth's ears flushed deep red.

"H-hey!" he stammered. "Don't tell them that! It's not funny!"

"When we were on Furrowfield," Crea said, ignoring him, "there was once or twice that I overheard people wish for something. So I'd build it, naturally, and tell them that I heard it through the grapevine that they wanted it." She smirked at Malroth, who glared in return. "Little bit later I find him pointing at a vine, threatening it and saying 'I'm onto you.'"

The women laughed as Crea gave her most innocent, winning smile, batting her eyelashes at an extremely unamused Malroth.

"You're so mean," he pouted.

"For what it's worth," Crea said, stage whispering to the other ladies with her hand by her mouth. "I tested 'a little bird told me' a few days later. He refused to let them roost anywhere nearby and chased them away from town for the better part of a week."

Tears of laughter were streaming down Ferrum's face, and Damara was trying her hardest not to follow suit.

"I'm sorry Malroth," Damara said, chuckling behind her petite hand and wiping at her eyes with the other. "Is really quite funny."

Externally, he pretended to be hurt. Internally, he was just relieved Crea was laughing again.

On the fifth day, it rained. They lounged in bed all day again, drowsy at the rain that pattered endlessly against the roof and window. Crea was noticeably happier, and Malroth hoped that meant she was past the worst of her grief. It would never truly be gone, that he understood– but he hoped it meant they could continue their journey soon. 

He was so close to the answers he sought, after all.

"Hey Crea," he asked, laying on his back. "Can I… ask you something?"

Her eyes glimmered hopefully as she looked at him, making him feel guilty for the question on his tongue.

"I was wondering," Malroth said slowly. "About… the things Zeligon said."

Her face fell, becoming downcast as the gloomy weather outside. He hated it. But he had to know.

Malroth swallowed harshly, looking up at the ceiling. "He told me you pitied me. That you kept me around and made love with me only because you felt bad. Or that you didn't tell me no even though you wanted to, sometimes." Words tumbled from his lips the more nervous he got. "I didn't really believe him, of course, but when he mentioned that you don't really tell _ anyone _no because you're too nice when they ask for something, well… I guess I realized that was true for once, and you haven't said no a lot, and I—"

Crea grabbed his chin, gently but firmly, causing the remaining words to die in his throat. Pulling his head to the side, she forced him to look at her. Her eyes had returned to their sadness, but there was a strong determination there too.

"Malroth," she said, calmly and deliberately. "Every time I have done that, it was because I wanted to. I will promise you now and forever you will know if I don't."

He exhaled, nodding slightly against her hand. That made him feel better. 

"On the other hand," she sighed, dropping her hand back to the bed. "Zeligon made me relive so many of those particular memories that I… I can't think on them without hearing his voice. He would laugh, you know? Jeering at how desperate I was to do that, telling me over and over that you were just using me because I was so hopelessly alone. That I was… easy. Easy to conquer because I was so lonely." She deflated, shrugging.

Malroth rolled closer to her, placing his forehead against hers. "He was a pervert, Crea. That's not your fault. He lied to you."

"I know," she whispered. "But the doubt is still there, a little."

"I will never hurt you," Malroth insisted, smoothing his thumb across her jawline. "And I will never force you to do anything. Especially that." He thought for a moment. "Unless I get possessed again. No promises then."

Crea covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. "That shouldn't be funny," she sniggered.

"Too soon?" He grinned. He leaned his head forward, kissing the tip of her nose. "But, honestly. If you're desperate, then so am I. You're all I've got."

She smiled sadly, reaching up to smooth the hair around his ears. "Just keep reminding me."

"I intend to," he said, reaching to place his hand on her hip with a soft smile. "Now what d'you say to making a memory that sicko hasn't touched?"

Crea flushed pink, running her hand across his torso. "I would really like that."

In their heat and passion, he purposefully let every shred of desperation linger on his tongue for her to hear and taste so that she _ knew, _ without any shadow of a doubt, that she was not alone. That he yearned just as much as she did, or possibly more. Malroth hoped he would remember this feeling forever, and that she would too, as he ministered to and worshiped her whole being for the goddess she was to him.

On the sixth day, they decided it was time to ask around concerning the Northern Temple. They went to Garrick first, finding him outside by the remembrance stone, gazing over the bay. 

"Hey!" he said brightly, eyes crinkling in a smile as they approached. "Been a while since I seen you kids around."

Crea smiled sheepishly. "It's been a rough few days."

"I bet. Damara told me about a little bit. Sounded like a rough fight." Garrick ran his fingers through his hair, the redness glimmering in the sun. "Glad you're still kickin', though. Both of you."

"We had a question," Malroth said, unused to the appreciation. "Damara and Ferrum both said they don't know about it, but we're trying to find a Northern Temple. Some place for Rubiss? I guess? Do you know it?"

Garrick rubbed at his chin. "I've heard _ of _ it, though I can't say I know anything _ about _ it. Mostly fragmented things from the Calor folk whenever they passed through."

"Do you know where it is?" Malroth asked hopefully.

"Not specifically," he admitted. "That said, I do know it's on an island off the coast. It's hard to take a boat to it because of all the shallow reefs in that part." Garrick shrugged. "That's all I've got though, I'm afraid. I don't even know what it looks like."

"Sounds like we'll have to walk," Crea said. "We can figure out how to get to it when we get there."

"Y'all Rubiss folk?" Garrick asked.

"Not really." Malroth shrugged. "But She told me to come find it, so."

Garrick's face went blank and pale. "She spoke to you?" he whispered.

Malroth sighed. He was getting tired of everyone acting like that when they found out. 

"Amazing right?" Crea said, pulling on Malroth's hand and leading him away. "But if we're going to be going on a hike we'd better go get ready. See you!"

They wandered aways off before Malroth released a frustrated groan.

"Why do they all act like that?" he grumbled. "It's nothing special. If anything She's kind of a jerk."

"It's just special to them," Crea said. "It's like the monsters back on the Isle, you know? They spent so long following 'you' that when you showed up they got a little star-struck. It's one of those things that they never expect an entity like that to actually appear."

"That's stupid," Malroth huffed. "Why believe in them if you don't actually think they could show up someday?"

Crea shrugged. "Such is some people's faith."

On the seventh day, after packing enough supplies and food to cover them for a month at Damara's request, they rowed their little rowboat to the north side of the bay and set off on foot into the barren landscape.


	36. Voice In the Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hide and go on_   
_With nothing said as loud as you like_
> 
> In which they reach the temple.

"It feels like it's been a long time, huh?"

Malroth looked up at Crea's question, pulling his focus from navigating the debris at his feet. "Since what?"

She paused atop a tall, charred trunk, observing the horizon. "Since this. Clambering around an unknown island, making new paths wherever we felt like, learning the island's secrets…" She smirked back at him. "Y'know. Just us."

Malroth sniggered. "Are you suggesting something?"

Crea laughed, hopping down from her vantage point to pick her way through the charred undergrowth. "No. Not really. I'd just forgotten how much I appreciated freedom like this. No expectations. No demands. Just you, me, and the sun."

Malroth nodded. "So what you're saying is I need to plan you more vacations."

"I mean, yes, but only if it's an island that isn't actively trying to kill us. I don't think I've been to one with you yet."

"You enjoy it."

"What, the 'beating up bad guys' or the 'you almost dying' every time? Because no. I definitely don't like either of those."

They stumbled onto a lightly tread path a short time later, blackened and dirty but thankfully flat. Malroth looked up and down the path, brushing dead leaves from his pant legs.

"Well, this'll make our way easier, huh?" he said.

Crea nodded. "I'm only concerned that this is the path to Calor. And truthfully, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to avoid it."

"Oh, yeah. Think it'll smell as bad as last time?" Malroth started to walk up the northern path.

"I hope not." Crea sighed. "We were a couple miles out over water last time. I can't imagine how bad it was up close."

"The fires should be gone now, at least," he said, surveying the sky. "I haven't seen smoke for a while, now that I think about it."

Drifting over, Crea took his hand. He could almost sense a question coming. 

"Do you feel nervous?" she asked quietly.

"About Calor?"

"No, about… about Rubiss."

Malroth raised an eyebrow. "Should I be?"

"I guess not." Crea shrugged. "I dunno. We're just on a short walk to some mystical temple to talk to the Goddess of our world that didn't actually exist until what, a month or two ago? Never mind the fact she's keeping track of the other world too, maybe more, and she's just happens to be waiting for us to show up? No worries!"

"Well when you put it like that," he mumbled. 

Her expression shifted slightly. "What will you ask first?"

Malroth stared at the road ahead, mulling over the thought. He'd spent so much time fighting and running and working, he hadn't had much time to think about it. What _ would _ he ask?

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I… guess I want to know just how I got there with you. Why I look so different. What I'm supposed to do now. If I—" He paused. _ If I'm supposed to die. _ The memory of his shade still lingered in the back of his mind, sometimes. 

"If you…?" Crea echoed hopefully, trying to be helpful.

"Uh…" Malroth blanked. "If I… did my best."

"Well I can answer that one," she said, smiling widely and squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, forcing a smile.

It was late afternoon when the path veered sharply to the east, the tall walls of Calor in the distance. Crea retched at the sight, even though there was no smell even to Malroth's keen senses. She waved away his distressed hovering, insistent it was the sudden first memory of the place that had set her off. Phantom smells, she'd said. He didn't understand, and that bothered him more than he'd ever care to admit. 

They kept going north. Crea thought it pleasant, almost, the leisurely way they were traveling this time. Not helter-skelter like they always had to on the other islands, or even the urgent way they felt they needed to when they first arrived on Aletia. Instead, they could afford to slow down a little, taking the time to make sure they could walk side by side. Malroth certainly kept his head on a swivel as though he was still bringing up the rear, but if it made him feel better, she wasn't about to stop him. 

At the crest of a hill some time later, Malroth pointed. "Look."

Following his finger, Crea immediately saw what had caught his attention. The hills rolled down gradually into a steep cliff, plunging into the sea below. Beyond, waves crashed against a rocky outcrop, sending spray everywhere. And further from that, a small island sat peacefully, a tall lighthouse-looking monument built into the side of an equally tall hill. It was unassuming, admittedly. But a confident feeling flowed into them both that they instinctively knew it was the right place. 

"How are we gonna get there?" Crea breathed, altering their course to walk right for it. "Those rocks look pretty dangerous."

"You're asking me?" Malroth laughed nervously. "You're the master builder around here."

"I know," she huffed. "But the cliffs would make a bridge really difficult, and I doubt using the rocks as anchor points would be smart given how fragile any bridge on top of them might be."

"Windbreaker?"

Crea craned her neck. "Probably couldn't get a starting point high enough to _ land _ on it. We'd have to swim the last little bit otherwise and we're both not stellar swimmers."

Malroth nodded. "I'm sure there's something really obvious we're missing. A puzzle or something."

"Really?"

He shrugged. "We're not the first to come here. And even if we were, She _ wants _ us there. So unless She's actually a jerk, it doesn't make sense to try to keep us out."

Crea hummed. "Could be a test, I suppose. She's the Goddess of _ creation _ after all. Maybe we've just gotta _ create _our own way over there."

Approaching the cliff, they surveyed the sharp drop down, ocean spray misting into their hair from the breeze. It was beautiful the way the white waves crashed and foamed around the jagged rocks, the sound of intermittent roaring in their ears. Beautiful, of course, but downright intimidating too. And terrifying. They had to go over that, somehow. Crea shivered at the thought. Malroth pointed again, catching her attention. 

"What's that?"

She followed his gaze, finding a sort of small wooden platform. It looked like steps leading up to a stage, but the back half of the rest of it had broken off some time ago. If there had been a backside to begin with, she supposed. A thick, sturdy iron pole sprouted from the very back end of the platform, perched on the very lip of the sheer cliff. 

"I dunno," Crea said, frowning but already walking. "Let's go check."

They walked together up the stairs to the platform, looking around the metal pole for any marker or indication of anything. Crea glanced around, trying to find extra clues.

"Oh!" she said. "There's another pole over there, in that rock."

Malroth nodded, gaze sweeping over the reef. "Looks like they'd make a path all the way to the island if they were connected at all."

"We could probably use them for a makeshift bridge. Y'think?" Crea bit her thumb as she thought aloud. "The _ poles _ are a bit weird, but maybe we could use them as a… suspension? Maybe a rope bridge? Flexible but sturdy if we do it right, and it could withhold being pushed around by the waves, at least until the saltwater ate it through." Crea came to her senses enough to notice Malroth smiling at her. "What?"

"I just love you," he grinned. "I've always liked hearing you talk Builder stuff."

Crea blushed. "Well– well you're gonna have to help me! I've got an idea but it could be risky."

Malroth's eyes lit up and her heart fluttered. "You know I'm down for risky!"

Crea rolled her eyes, pulling thick braided rope from her bag. "As long as you don't go falling in the water."

"What makes you think I'll do that?" He took the end of the rope, pulling it away from her as she continued to pull more out. 

"What part of 'your middle name is reckless' is hard to understand?" she called.

"I have a middle name?! I didn't even know I could have more than one, let alone a _ middle _ one!"

Crea slapped a hand to her forehead as Malroth laughed loudly.

The afternoon faded quickly into the sunset, twilight looming as Crea plotted and planned, estimating distances and determining the best design for their purpose. Malroth set up camp as she worked in the fading light, setting up a warm place for her when the light eventually faded. Of course, she didn't seem to notice when the light ran out. Undeterred and used to this behavior, Malroth eventually strolled over and hoisted her onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, carrying her back to the small tent. Surprisingly she didn't argue, choosing instead to enjoy every warm moment she had snuggled up to him in the dark. Which wasn't many, admittedly, given how fast they both fell asleep after the labors of the day.

In the morning after breakfast, they were back at it again, working together to manipulate the rope how Crea designed. It took several hours, and a couple harrowing trips among the rocks to measure the lengths right, but the two managed to weave a decent, sturdy frame. Crea had designed it in a V-shape, reinforcing the bottom strand to hold their weight. When they'd made enough sections, Malroth took the ends of the ropes over his shoulder, bounding across the rocks to the next pole, much to Crea's distress. He anchored them to each pole with the knots he'd learned from Brownbeard, then held the ends steady for Crea to follow with the next section of bridge over her shoulder. When they finally reached the island, they were tired, soaking, and cold. 

"You reckon we take a nap before we go in?" Malroth teased. 

"Can we take a nap inside?" Crea sighed. "Probably warmer."

He smiled gently, reaching his hand out for her. She took it, interlocking their fingers together as they approached the temple. 

For each step towards the temple, Malroth felt eagerness grow within him, pulling him a couple steps in front of her. It wasn't until he heard Crea yelp behind him and yanked her hand from his grasp that he broke from his fixation of his goal, turning to look at her. A tall, shimmering barrier stood between them, transparent and with fuchsia tones. Crea looked alarmed, her hand resting against it like it were glass. His heart sank, rushing back to press against it.

And fall right through it.

"Are you okay?" Crea panicked as he hit the ground, grass rubbing against his face as he laid still for a moment.

"'M fine," Malroth sighed, muffled into grass. He raised his head, waving off her attempts to help. "It was just my pride, relax."

Crea put a hand up to the barrier as he stood up, looking to see if she could find the edges. "You think we could… break it? Maybe? Looks too tall to climb over or anything."

"Maybe there's a magic source I can smash," Malroth said, passing through it again. He waved his arm through it, watching the way it shimmered like water.

"It's so odd," Crea murmured. "Why would there be a barrier around here? Wouldn't the Goddess want people to come and pay respect to her?"

_ Because I only want to talk to you, child. _

Malroth flinched as Rubiss' voice pressed against his mind. He grimaced, sighing. 

"What?" Crea said, noticing his expression.

"I think She just wants to talk to me," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I… think I heard Her."

Crea bit her lip, worry plain on her face like words on a page. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Malroth said, smiling to try to calm her fears. And his own. "No worries. I'll tell you all about it when I get back."

"I'm really not liking this trend of not being able to be with you," she grumbled. 

Malroth leaned forward, his hand passing through the barrier to squeeze her hand. "It'll be fine," he said. "I'll be back soon, okay?"

She pouted, but she nodded. Giving her a reassuring smile as his hand fell back to his side, Malroth turned and walked up the steps to enter the temple.


	37. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Because I have a secret_   
_And it's hell trying to keep it_   
_It tears right through my heart_   
_And it swallows me whole_
> 
> In which Malroth finds Rubiss.

Malroth had been to plenty of temples and chapels before, like the massive church on Furrowfield, or the hidden shrine deep below Khrumbul-dun. But all those places had been big, splendorous monuments, their size and glamour making up for any decay that had been present. In comparison, the interior of this, the Creator Goddess's temple, was surprisingly plain.

Well, he didn't really find it that surprising. For as awkward as it had been to get here, he doubted it normally got many guests.

Still, the temple itself didn't look bad. The floor was a respectable granite, stoic columns lining around the edges of the room. Ornate carvings lined the edge of ceiling, curving around the pillars where necessary. But for all the subtle decorations, it was also entirely empty. 

"Hello?" he called, frowning. "Uh, Rubiss? It's me… Malroth…"

His voice bounced off the walls a bit. He stepped further towards the middle of the room, glancing around him. It was so _ quiet. _ It made him nervous.

He was about to call out again when a small altar on the far side of the room caught his attention. It looked much like the altars had Crea had made for Esther's church back on the Isle. Approaching it, he saw several shriveled flowers, brown and curled up in a pile in the center. They looked like they'd disintegrate if he touched them. It really must have been a while since anyone was here last. There was some sort of mosaic on the wall behind the altar, depicting a lady with her arms outstretched and a fan-like halo of light circling her head.

_ That's Rubiss, _ he thought. _ I'm not supposed to talk to the wall, am I? _

Malroth bit his lip, staring at it. The mosaic was artfully pieced together, the angled crystals glinting in the low light from the windows. It was beautiful, and yet… 

He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something behind it.

Eyebrows furrowing, Malroth sidestepped around the altar, stepping up to put his fingers against the glass. He pressed against it, testing the wall, but it held firm. _ You really want me to break this? _ he wondered, still searching around the edge of the mosaic for some kind of lever or switch. Annoyance crept into his mind, recalling what Ferrum had said about the Goddess being cryptic. He snorted, lifting his hammer from his shoulder. If She wanted to play, he could play.

He clenched his eyes shut as his hammer smashed through the mosaic. Crystal, glass, and stone flew in all directions, bouncing off his skin and clattering around his feet. Squinting his eyes open as the noise silenced, he felt triumph as a small passageway lay silently in wait, colorful debris scattered inside of it. Each footstep crunched as he ducked through the short corridor, emerging on the other side into a much smaller room. 

It was visually similar to the last, though two clear pools lined both sides of the small space. Thin columns lined each side of the middle pathway, the sound of running water echoing from somewhere further up. 

He recognized the growing light before it blinded him this time. Turning his head away and closing his eyes, light flashed behind his eyelids for a brief moment. When he looked back, Rubiss stood before him in all her resplendent glory. Well, he thought she was standing. He couldn't actually tell.

Malroth smirked, donning a mask of sarcastic bravado. "So what'd Crea do that she has to wait outside?"

"She is not meant to witness," the Goddess said simply.

"Right, because I'm so special." He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Please. I know your cryptic game. I'd ask you why I'm getting some special treatment about all this, but I'm sure you'd spit back a riddle."

Rubiss smiled cheekily. "Are you requesting a riddle, Malroth son of Hargon?"

Instantly he bristled, the hair on his neck rising as he scowled. "Don't call me that."

"Then what would you wish to be called?"

"Uh…" His eyes flitted nervously around the room, trying to find inspiration. He found it at the weight on his back. "Malroth… Darkhammer."

"Very well." The Goddess' eyes twinkled. "Though as you would not want a riddle, Malroth Darkhammer, perhaps I will do you the service of speaking plainly."

"Appreciated," Malroth said, eyeing her carefully. "But…" He trailed off, not sure how to ask his question. 

Rubiss stood silently, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. 

He inhaled. "Why are you talking to _ me?" _

"To even the field," she said, expressionless. 

Malroth blinked. "What?"

"All the others have had plenty of time to come into who they are. They were born, learned as they went, and became as they desired to be. They had time to grow. They do not need my guidance in that. You, however," she said, offering a sad smile, "are lacking there. You did not have such a luxury. Hence, I am here to speak with you now concerning who you are. Who you were."

"Who I…?" Malroth felt vague hope rising in his stomach. "Does that mean there _ was _ something from before I woke up on the Isle? Why can't I remember anything now?"

She shook her head. "You remember nothing because there was nothing."

Malroth's throat ran dry, every other question evaporating on his tongue. "What do you mean?" he whispered. 

She glimmered in front of him, light cascading from her robes. "You cannot remember a childhood because there was none. Hargon created you in that moment on the beach for you to be a vessel. He was haphazard at best, but I managed to intervene to stabilize your mortal flesh. He had not intended for you to be so"–she smiled–"entirely human."

Malroth stared, only half understanding.

"Even in an at-the-time illusionary world, I am still the Goddess of creation. I would be remiss if I didn't put the finishing touches on all of my creations."

"You..." Malroth said, gaping. "So _ you _ created me?"

"To a point," she said. "Hargon imagined your body, and since it was his world, it appeared into being. But Hargon was no Creator, and some of his details were haphazard."

Malroth felt his pointed ears turn pink.

"I assisted without his knowing, giving you your humanity. You suffered greatly, having it in such proximity to the evils within you. For that, I can only apologize." Her smile widened knowingly. "Of course, I had always expected for you to survive. I sent the builder to you, after all."

"Sent…? Wait, what? _ You _ brought her here?" He was starting to feel rather stupid for how he kept parroting her words. 

"Hargon had not planned for that either. Not exactly. I brought her close enough for him to realize her presence and potential. But in his inflexible desire to incite destruction, he thought that exposing you to building would awaken the latent catastrophic destiny he hid in your soul." She shrugged. "He was only half correct."

"But what about Crea?" Malroth asked, feeling his protective nature swelling up over his own confused feelings. "You brought her here, knowing she would have to choose between her world and this one in the end, provided we didn't die. Doesn't that make you just as selfish as Hargon?"

"This world was her purpose," Rubiss said. "I laid the groundwork for her destiny. What she chooses to do after is her business."

"She shouldn't have to make that choice!" he shouted, pointing at her accusingly. "You took her choices away. Give them back!"

Rubiss' eyes flashed of white fire, betraying her calm demeanor. "Are you suggesting you make her choices for her?"

Malroth's heart dropped out through his stomach at his dangerous mistake. "N-no—"

"Two choices," she said. She held her hands out to each side, two golden mirrors appearing above them, displaying images. One showed their canyon house, sleek and unassuming. The other he assumed was the real Cantlin, based on the replica of the giant door Crea had made and shown him once, as well as the familiar walls that looked like Laic.

He wasn't liking the look of that. 

"Perhaps you desire to keep her for yourself," Rubiss began, "living in a universe where you are both celebrated and admired. Status rightfully afforded to you, certainly, but steeped in the understanding that you may be keeping her from her true desires, even for as much as she loves you."

Malroth hesitated, thinking back on the last week. He had chosen _ her… _

"Or perhaps," she continued, "you would like to see her _ real _ hometown, meet her friends and family. I could fabricate a childhood for you, if only to answer the questions of the curious when they inevitably come. But what of her building? Would she return to apprenticeship, knowing she excels beyond what any of them could teach her? Or would she separate herself from society anyway, forging her own way with her skills but remembering everything she left behind?" Rubiss looked into his eyes. "If she could take you with her, would she choose it?"

Malroth couldn't breathe. This was wrong. He couldn't make that choice _ for _ her.

"I can't," he whispered. 

"You must."

"No!" he shouted. "This is wrong! Why does she have to decide? Why can't she have both? She deserves it if no one else!"

"You accuse me of selfishness and display the same," she said. "But I was not the one to foolishly insult deity. You wished to shoulder her burden, so you will do so."

Heart beating wildly in his chest, distress surged through his body and mind. He desperately glanced between both images, wishing Crea were with him now.

"Malroth Darkhammer," Rubiss said darkly, her voice sending pangs of shame down his spine. 

She raised her hands to emphasize the images. Malroth's throat turned to ash.

"Choose."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last *horrible* cliffhanger, I promise. one for the road, so to speak :D


	38. Little Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's like you came from nothing_   
_And now you're everything to me_
> 
> In which Malroth confronts his curse.

It felt like silent eternity. The images burned themselves into his mind, the gravity of the choice weighing on him so heavily he couldn't help but fall to his knees.

"No," Malroth whispered, shaking his head as tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes. "I can't do that to her. I made a m-mistake, I‐I'm sorry. I won't hurt her."

Rubiss' hand dropped back to her side, the pictures disappearing into the air. "Then believe her."

Discomfort clung to his throat, the tears finally falling at his surprise. "What?" he choked.

"She has told you repeatedly what she desires. Believe her," she emphasized. "And stop projecting."

"What do you mean I'm _ projecting?"_ he demanded angrily. 

"You desire a background. A place to call your own. She has it. You want it. You mistakenly believe that if she has it, it can extend to you, giving you the belonging you crave." Rubiss smiled sadly. "But it does not work this way. You have belonging wherever you choose to create it."

"You mean…" Malroth exhaled harshly, scrubbing at his eyes. "You mean like the belonging _ ahead _ of me…?"

"Precisely." The Goddess' eyes sparkled. "Belonging behind you is in your past. Belonging ahead of you is in your future." She gestured at the window. "It is many mortal's goals to find belonging in a person or thing as to have a form of both."

It was hard to convince his lungs to function again for as tight as his throat was. Malroth breathed heavily for a long moment, his hands shaking at his knees and his eyes still burning from terrified tears. If She weren't so instrumental in answering his questions, he knew he would have fought Her hard for pulling a stunt like that. 

As it was, he was already reeling.

"Malroth," Rubiss said gently.

"Are you always this much of a jerk to people?" He clenched his fists, anger bubbling in his gut. "I hope you're nicer to your followers than to some demon like me."

"You are no demon," she said passively.

"Then what am I?" he shouted, glaring her down with all the annoyance and frustration he'd been harboring over the last few weeks. "I'm not a human, I'm not a monster, I'm just some bastard child of a demonic priest is all? Some… some _ fluke _ of an existence that you were _ so kind _ to save?" He snarled. "Give me a break."

"You know what you are," she said. 

"Like hell I do!" he yelled. "Even if I _ was _a human, you think that knowledge alone would let me stop seeing how they all look at me?"

Rubiss paused.

Malroth balled his hands into tighter fists at his thighs. "I see the _ fear of otherness _ in them," he growled. "In everyone we meet. The quick glance between my ears and my eyes, and then again later if they ever see me fight. It happens no matter where we go. Every island. Every time. Even monsters look at me confused, wondering why I don't look like the other humans. So yeah. Even if I _ was _ a human, you think that would matter to _them?"_

Silence passed for a long moment, only the sound of the running water echoing throughout the empty place. He huffed, looking away.

"It is as I said," she said quietly. "You have suffered greatly."

Malroth scoffed.

"And," she added, "it is time we remove Hargon's influence from your outlook."

His eyes snapped back up to her face, her expression unreadable as she floated towards him with her hand outstretched. Malroth scrambled to his feet, taking several measured steps away. "What are you talking about?"

Rubiss stopped. "Hargon made you look different so you would feel different and ostracize yourself. Perhaps he hoped it would help you recognize the monstrous reflection when your soul finally changed over. In any case, he drew your attention to it when you noticed it, hoping you would alienate yourself. It was intended to make it easier to control you."

"It nearly worked," Malroth grumbled. 

"Hargon's curse reinforces his lies. They feed on your insecurities and give him a legacy of power over you," she said, raising her hand again. "They will crumble when it is removed."

Malroth hesitated as she got closer. "Will it change me?" he asked. "My…" He reached up to touch his ears.

"The curse is only within you," she said, still drawing closer. "Your form cannot be altered now."

Malroth eyed her approaching hand warily, but made no further move to step away. The distance between them closed until her palm made careful contact with his forehead, her lithe fingers curling down across his temples and into his hair. For a moment he could only feel the weight of her palm against his head, but then a slow feeling of nausea crept into his stomach. 

Shutting his eyes in concentration, he tried to focus on her warm touch. But the growing turmoil in his gut was getting harder to ignore, and soon Malroth felt like he might throw up. His spine began to tingle, his knees felt weak, and it was only then he realized how much her touch felt like fire against his skin. He groaned in discomfort, swaying slightly.

"Peace," Rubiss murmured. 

As if he didn't want to. Straining to stay upright, his head felt encompassed with a fog, making him lightheaded. He opened his eyes– _ is that the ceiling? When did I get on the floor? _

A surge of nausea rushed through him again, and he clenched his eyes shut at the clammy feeling that followed. Malroth retched dryly, turning to curl up on his side, struggling against the immense heat at his forehead. He cried out in pain, vaguely aware of his writhing limbs.

High-pitched laughter rang out and Malroth's heart froze, throwing him into the darkness of his mind's eye. Hargon stood before him against the blackness, smiling and laughing as he looked down at his enfeebled form on the floor. Malroth wanted to move, to stand, to do anything, but he was sick and clammy and heavy and _ stuck. _ He could only look up at the demon priest from his position on the floor, agonizing against the war inside his own body.

"Weak," Hargon crooned. "It would've been better if you had died. Submitted yourself to Lord Malroth and followed his teachings of destruction by offering your body and soul for him to destroy!"

Malroth could only whimper, grimacing at the weight against his chest that kept him from speaking. _ Why is he here? There's no way he's still real. _

"But you ruined that, didn't you?" Hargon continued, his smile unsettling as he kept his eyes trained on Malroth's face. "You keep living despite the pain. Despite the wrongness of your life. Don't you wish to give it up? To stop the pain?"

Malroth grit his teeth, sucking in breath. "Wouldn't you like that," he snarled past the painful tightness in his throat. He wasn't interested in death if that's what he was offering.

"It isn't too late…" A delighted, frenzied look appeared on Hargon's face. "Is it, my son?"

"I am _ not _ yours!" Malroth snapped. Every word felt like molten fire in his throat, threatening to burn him up from the inside out.

Hargon laughed, high-pitched shrieking ringing out, amplifying his headache. "As if you could ever be rid of me. I made you. You _ owe _ me. If you try to turn your back on me, you die."

Malroth growled. "You're already dead. Release me."

Hargon lowered his staff, pressing the rounded crystal harshly against Malroth's cheek. "You will never be free," he said lowly. "Even if I am gone, even if you find a way to break this curse, you are _ mine. _ Your memory is your true curse, you pathetic creature."

A sharp pain shot through his chest, feeling like a stab. He grimaced. _ Rubiss… _

"She will not come," Hargon said as though reading his thoughts. He smugly pulled his staff away. "You're just as fabricated as I am."

Malroth glared up at the priest, panting against the pain shooting fire through his head, his chest, his heart. "You're a liar."

"Do you expect your girlfriend to come again instead?" Hargon added. "When will she tire of saving you? When will she decide enough is enough and leave you to die?"

"She loves me," he snarled. "She is stronger than you. And stronger than—" He grimaced at a jolt of pain. "Stronger than me."

"A human?" Hargon jeered. "How could a human be stronger than you? You are delusional to believe such fanciful lies. Are you listening to yourself? How could she love a monster?"

A strange sensation in his chest made Malroth gasp. A tangible point of pain began to travel through him, feeling like a marble rolling beneath his skin. It moved from his heart to hit against his ribs, trying to find an exit. 

"Because I am a human," Malroth retorted, feeling his confidence blooming at his own words. "And that was _ your _ mistake."

Hargon opened his mouth to speak, but a shooting pain made Malroth yell suddenly, cutting him off. The marble moved between his bones, pressing up against his skin as it now moved over the _ top _ of his ribs. A lump formed in his throat against the sensation, and the clammy feeling returned as the marble rolled up across his sternum. Malroth leaned his head back, trying to breathe as the thing paused in the gap between his collarbones. He could already tell he was going to be sick.

The marble pressed into his throat and traveled up out of his mouth, making him gag as it passed over his tongue. He coughed violently for several seconds, his stomach churning as he did. When it finally passed, he forced himself to be still for a moment to be sure before looking up. Hargon had vanished and he was back in the temple, curled up on the floor as Rubiss hovered in front of him once again. He moaned, which in turn triggered a reflex deep in his throat, forcing him to sit up as his stomach emptied its contents onto the stone floor beside him.

"Do you grant wishes?" Malroth wheezed when he could breathe properly again. "Because I wish his stupid laugh could be scrubbed from my brain."

A small, black orb hovered in the air, looking like an angry thunderstorm had gotten trapped inside a glass ornament. Dark clouds swirled, hiding the pink lightning that flashed within. It floated leisurely to Rubiss, hovering in her palm as she ignored his quip. 

"You did well," she remarked. "As I said, the curse fed off insecurities. In the process of removal, you had to face them head on. Not only did you confront them…" She smiled slyly. "But I believe it was also informative."

He tried to slow his heavy breathing, carefully fighting back against the nausea that still settled in his stomach. He rubbed his mouth, trying to wipe away the foul taste as he adjusted to lean on his hand. 

Rubiss smiled. "You should find your insecurities easier to assuage in the future."

"Am I meant to die?" he blurted out.

She paused, carefully observing his determined expression. "You will die," she said calmly, no malice present in her voice. "But such is the fate of all living, not just you. It is an inevitability, the only such case for mortals. There is no need to hurry it along."

Malroth processed this slowly. "So I _ am _… mortal?"

The smile returned to Rubiss' face. "Undeniably human, as you wished."

_ As I…? _ He shook his head. "And my destiny?"

"Whatever you wish," she explained, twirling the manifestation of his curse between her fingers. "Destiny is what you make it to be. If you wish to live with your builder forever, then it will be. If you wish to truly build your empire of evisceration, then it will be. Nothing is set in stone."

Malroth exhaled, an inexplicable weight leaving the confines of his chest. This was a lot to take in.

"Remember this, Malroth Darkhammer," she said. "If ever your life turns into something you do not like, it is within your power to change it. You cannot change the things that happen to you, it is true, but you can always change yourself. Mortals are not so infallible as to never need refining."

Malroth watched the stormy black marble circle her hand lazily. Its energy had lessened, already losing the fierceness of the storm. With nothing to feed it, he assumed it wouldn't take long for it to starve.

"Crea," he croaked, looking over his shoulder.

"In a moment," Rubiss said. The corner of her mouth quirked. "She is quite remarkable."

He nodded, his eyes sparkling.

"But I must ask," she said, an eyebrow raising. "She is stronger than you?"

Malroth smiled softly. "Yeah," he said, sounding awed. "I've got muscle on her, sure, but…" He trailed off, thinking about how to describe it. "I don't know. She just… is. I don't have the same lifetime of things on me like she does." His eyebrows furrowed at the thought, starting to rise to his feet. "She must be worried."

"Rest, child," Rubiss said, waving her hand to cast sleep upon him. "She will come soon."

Malroth curled up instantly, soft snores whispering from his lips. Rubiss flicked her wrist at the window.

"I need to have a word with her."


	39. In No Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where's your heart gone_   
_And where's your soul?_   
_Where did all of your faith go?_   
_And where's that old spark, a failure stole?_   
_Well I bet we'll find it in no time at all_
> 
> In which their journey comes to a close.

Crea ran her hand along the mystical barrier, the other holding her pendant as she walked back and forth along the misty shore. She had probably walked the same stretch of 30 feet about forty times already, and she kept nervously looking at the entrance to the temple on each pass. Sighing, she looked down, idly wondering how long she'd have to go on like this to wear a noticeable path in the grass.

Her arm fell suddenly and she snapped her head to the side. The barrier was fading, dissolving away from her outstretched hand. Breath hitched in her throat, it was only a second before Crea was dashing inside, locket bouncing across her torso, barrier still in the process of fading behind her.

"Malroth?" she yelled, sliding in over the granite. Immediately she zeroed in on the gaping hole behind the altar, and she cussed internally. 

_ Damn you, Malroth! _ she scolded, already running. _ You come to visit the Goddess and you go off to destroy something _ in her own temple _ before speaking with her?? Creationist she may be, she can still probably smite you! _ She sprinted to the opening in the wall, glancing at the candles and pile of dead flowers on the altar as she passed them.

Ducking into the small room, Crea froze at the sight. Certainly her eyes were drawn to the glowing white figure at the center of the room, but she was more interested and alarmed at the body curled up on the floor. She hesitated, feeling her breath freeze in her chest.

"Peace, child. He is merely sleeping."

Crea forced a deep breath, but she still felt distracted by Malroth's unmoving form. She clutched her pendant nervously. "Rubiss?" she whispered.

The Goddess didn't respond, but instead her eyes made deliberate sweeping movements up and down Crea's appearance. Crea got the distinct impression she was looking for something– though what, and how, she couldn't be sure. She suppressed a shiver.

After several moments, the Goddess smiled widely. "It appears all is well here."

"What did you just do," Crea asked warily, shifting her weight between her feet. She wasn't sure how straightforward she could afford to be. 

"Just checking the state of your character," the Goddess said simply. "Malroth needs a strong heart to follow, and if he continues to follow yours he will have no trouble developing his own."

"But he's already got a strong heart," Crea said before she could stop herself. She blushed in embarrassment, covering her mouth.

"Yes," Rubiss agreed. "Though his is still in need of a little guidance. Provided you maintain your path, he's unlikely to wander far."

Crea felt pride bloom in her chest– not because of the compliment to her, but because of Her gracious words about him. 

"In any case," Rubiss continued. "You deserve fair warning. Hargon's curse has been successfully removed, but he will feel sickly for many weeks. He is not properly sick, of course, but he will feel… odd, for a time. His health will feel returned when his soul has mended."

"When his _ soul _ has mended?" Crea echoed, frowning. "What do you mean?"

The Goddess smiled. "This particular break was first left behind when Hargon first emerged from his soul, just before fleeing to Malhalla. Upon his death when he placed the curse, it was easy to place it inside the gap that was already there. Malroth's soul grew around it, much like a festering splinter."

Crea shifted between feet again, anxious to check on Malroth. "And… and you can't fix that?"

Rubiss shook her head. "It would be best for it to heal naturally. I can heal bodies, not spirits. Even then, souls are a complicated matter in that they are a combination of the two. Malroth must fill this gap on his own."

"With what?"

A knowing smile. "It is for him to decide. Just know he will feel the emptiness without understanding for some time. He will look to you."

Crea nodded. Par for the course, she decided. Heaven knew they could do with a vacation.

"Take peace, daughter Builder," Rubiss said, extending her hands as a warm glow encircled her form. "And craft it wherever you can." A flash of bright light and the Goddess was gone. 

The sounds of murmuring water filled her ears, and Crea took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before rushing forward to Malroth's side. His soft snores filled her with comfort as she knelt down, shaking his shoulder gingerly. 

"Malroth?"

The snoring stopped, and his body unfurled itself into a stretch, bending back in a way that made her think of a cat. Once satisfied, he groaned and yawned, lying flat on his back to smile drowsily up at her.

"Oh," he said slowly, as though still shaking the sleep from his mind. "Hi. How'd you get in here?"

Crea hesitated. "Barrier came down. I came in and found you asleep on the floor," she lied.

Malroth hummed distractedly, looking at the center of the room. "And Rubiss…?"

"Gone before I got here," Crea said. "She really did just want to talk to you." It would be fine if she didn't mention what she'd been told, she reasoned. It had been mostly been for… follow-up care. Like a doctor's visit. And a little bit of praise, but she didn't want to think too hard about what it meant if a _ Goddess _ was pleased with who they were as people.

Malroth hummed again, sounding disappointed as he continued to stare at where Rubiss had been.

"Did you… uh. Get the answers you wanted? Er, needed?"

Malroth nodded, turning his head to smile dopily up at her again. "She likes you."

Crea blinked. "What?"

"She said you were remarkable."

Crea sighed. He was _ out _ of it. Removing the curse must've taken more out of him than she thought. She tugged on his arm. "C'mon, you bum. We should go home."

"But 'm tired," he whined, letting his arm go limp.

"But I know," she said, mimicking his tone. "But we should at least get somewhere more comfortable than this, don't you think?"

Malroth grumbled but complied, lazily sitting up and stumbling to his feet with her help. Crea pulled one of his arms over her shoulder and held his waist, helping him walk as he giggled. It was like he'd been drugged. Which, given the magical sleep he'd been put under, may not have been as far of a stretch as she thought.

They stumbled through the small hallway back into the main room, Malroth rambling incoherently as they went. He pointed at the altar when they emerged. "Priddy flow'rs…"

She glanced at the altar, and her hair rose on end. The pile of dead flowers that had been there before, that had looked like they would disintegrate at her touch… they were _ blooming. _ Malroth hummed nonsensically, trying to reach forward and grab one.

The air behind her felt suddenly still, and in her increased wariness she turned her head slowly to look. Inches from her nose, a mosaic stood completed, covering the hole in the wall they'd just come from. Crea gasped in surprise, taking a step away and bumping into the altar. The glass pieces from the floor were gone, and the pristine colors on the wall sparkled beautifully. At her side, Malroth had grabbed a flower and was haphazardly trying to set it behind her ear. With his increased lack of coordination though, he mostly kept sticking it _ in _ her ear instead.

"Stop that," she scolded, swiping it out of his hand. She dropped it back on the pile. "It's not ours."

"But you'd be priddy," he slurred, stumbling against her as she led him outside.

"I'm already pretty," she said, surveying the bridge. There was _ no _chance Malroth could make it in this condition. He'd find a way to fall in the ocean, she was sure. She sighed. She supposed they'd have to set camp until he was conscious enough to hold his balance. 

Making him sit in the grass with a blade of it, she gave him the complicated task of making it into a whistle. Crea demonstrated a few times, pressing the single blade between her thumbs and making it sing. Malroth watched, enamored, then squashed his thumbs together and tried to replicate. When she was certain he would be focused enough to not tumble off the cliff into the sea while she was occupied, she pitched their tent, trying to make it as comfortable as possible for being on the road. He had whined of course, when she had to drag him to bed, but he snuggled with her happily once he was under the sheets. And then fell asleep near instantly. Crea sighed, rubbing her fingers through his hair as he slept. 

_ Malroth needs a strong heart to follow… _

_ She thinks you're remarkable. _

_ Provided you maintain your path, he's unlikely to wander far. _

It had been a weird day, she decided. But she could worry about all that later. She was deathly curious what he'd learned, but she couldn't do anything about that now. Cozying in, she pressed her cheek against his forehead. For now, they just needed to rest.

They certainly deserved it.

* * *

Malroth was fine the next morning, though sporting a headache and complaining of a dull pain in the left side of his chest. Crea just smiled, mindful of what the Goddess had said. It would take time, but he would be fine. 

Traveling to the fortress was inexplicably easier and faster on the way back. Whether it was because it was _ actually _easier, or because Malroth managed to fill the entire time explaining what had happened with Rubiss, she wasn't sure. In either case, she was simply glad that Malroth was feeling happier than she'd ever seen him before. It was something in the spring of his step, in the glimmer of his eye, in his wide smile. Something she couldn't place.

Not that it mattered, really.

They'd returned with little fanfare, which Crea personally appreciated. It got old and overwhelming after a while. The most they got was a knowing smile from Damara, who then hugged each of them in turn, whispering about how proud she was of them both. Malroth sighed happily in the embrace, hugging the older woman hard. She'd been invaluable to them both. He wished there was a better way to show his appreciation. 

When finally they could retreat to their room and fall on the bed together for some much needed peace, Crea pulled Malroth into her arms, placing her chin between the cowlicks on his head. He hummed, enjoying her embrace as he wrapped his arm around her midsection.

"So now what?" Malroth whispered almost an hour later.

Crea blinked, tilting her head back to look at his face. She had thought he was asleep. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, we beat the big bad. Restored peace to the island. Got the answers we were looking for… and some. But all the other times we've left an island it was for the express purpose of bringing people back to the Isle with us." He shrugged. "Don't have to, here. So what do we do now?"

She shifted down in the bed, moving so she could place her forehead against his. "I dunno," she admitted quietly. "We could stay here a while. With how much rebuilding will need to happen, I don't know that we _ should _ bring anyone back with us."

"Damara will be disappointed."

"We'll just come visit a lot," she grinned. "Make a vacation house tucked away somewhere."

Malroth returned the grin. "That would be nice."

"I don't think I want to go back to the Isle right away," Crea added. "But we'll have to go back eventually. The Hairy Hermit would probably like to know what we got up to. And that we're not dead."

"And probably make sure Lulu didn't stage a coup while we were gone," Malroth sniggered.

She rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Lulutopia…" she grumbled bitterly. Malroth just laughed.

"Think there are other islands out there?" he asked after they'd settled down again.

"Most definitely."

"Think you'd want to find another one sometime?"

Crea pondered. "Eventually," she said. "But for right now I think we need a break." She rubbed her hand over his heart gently, silently urging it to heal.

Malroth hummed at her touch. "Well, there's one thing I know for sure," he said, smiling softly.

"What's that?"

A touch of pink crept onto his cheeks. "Whatever happens, I just want to be with you."

Crea felt her heart blossom in her chest as she smiled. "And there's nowhere else I'd rather have you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is epilogue-ish, so :D we made it!!


	40. Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Treasure is measured in units of love_   
_Which means you may find you are rich_   
_Beyond your wildest dreams_
> 
> In which we epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey what's this chapter remind me of... :)

A bolt of lightning lit the small bedroom of their house within the fortress, and the following thunder rumbled through the air. Crea awoke, gasping in surprise as she felt the shaking in her chest and in the bed.

"You alright?"

She sat up, looking around in the dim light of the room. There at the window stood Malroth, robe wrapped around his shoulders as he searched her face with a calm expression. 

"Yeah," she said quietly, slipping out from between the covers to set her feet on the cool wood floor. "What about you? It's pretty late, isn't it?" She padded over to him.

Malroth opened his arms, embracing her when she got close enough. "Yeah," he acknowledged, sharing his body heat. "It just hurt a little too much to sleep on it."

Crea rubbed her hand on his chest by his heart. "Here?"

He nodded. She leaned forward and kissed it. He hummed.

"It'll be okay," she said, setting her head against his chest to join him in looking out the window.

"I know." He smirked. "You've only told me about seven thousand times."

"Well, I'll tell you at least _ one _more time before its true," she grinned. He laughed silently. 

They stood in silence for a long time, swaying together as they watched the dark clouds swirl and threaten rain. It was bliss, she thought. The ability to just exist in each other's presence, not having to speak to enjoy one another. Crea hugged him tighter at the thought. He was better than any friend she could've ever hoped for.

"You ever think about rebuilding Cantlin?" Malroth said suddenly. "I mean— Laic. Could be nice to see it all done up properly. Maybe people would live there again someday."

Crea hummed, sadness panging slightly at her heart. She still missed the things it had given her, but the thought of actually going back felt like she'd be stuffing herself in a box. She'd grown too much to return now. "Maybe," she said. "I dunno. Cantlin's not really my home anymore. Just where I'm from."

"Oh. So where's home now?"

She grinned. "My home is with you, Malroth."

"Cheeky," he laughed quietly, squeezing her midsection. "Thanks."

"For what?"

He nuzzled the top of her head, nestling his nose into her hair. "For always being there for me."

She blushed, planting a kiss against his neck. "Even when I wasn't?"

Malroth snorted. "Even when you weren't."

Crea yawned through her smile, bringing a hand back to rub at her tired eyes.

He chuckled. "But we need to get you in bed, my sleepy builder. Else Damara will probably have my head for keeping you up late."

"But I don't want to sleep yet," she grumbled. "I wanna stay with you."

"I'll carry you over there," Malroth said, eyebrow raising in threat. "You know I will."

Crea muttered something incomprehensible under her breath. "Fine," she said, pulling out of his grasp and taking a step away. "But only cos you asked nicely."

Malroth watched her go several small steps before a thought occurred to him. "Y'know," he said. "I could probably be persuaded to come with you."

She turned back to him, rolling her eyes with a mischievous smile. "I don't suppose I could just ask?"

"Crea." Malroth grinned playfully, but his voice belied his sincerity. "I would go anywhere if you just asked."

Crea smiled genuinely, light blossoming behind her eyes. It made him weak in the knees, truthfully. But he meant every word.

She reached out her hand.

He took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [have a playlist!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLHxmB7j2lypDSFCLPFaOcuAtUAYz-qJm4) these are the songs I used for my chapter titles because I'm unoriginal. :D sorry for anyone who gets super peeved by that. but I drew a lot of inspiration from them, so.
> 
> in other news, THANK YOU for being here and reading all the way to the end! almost 75k words and you read them all. go you! <3
> 
> big shoutout and thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos and bookmarks along the way (and after!). you guys motivated and validated me like crazy! I will always be thankful for that. I doubt I'd have finished without you. <3
> 
> go forth and be excellent to each other. also go hug your Malroth.  
#hugsforMalroth

**Author's Note:**

> All crit welcome, so long as it's not being mean! And let me know if I should add a tag!


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